


Black and White

by ShadowThorne



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Androids, Angst, Blood and Gore, M/M, Maybe... probably angst, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:22:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27172396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowThorne/pseuds/ShadowThorne
Summary: “Welcome to the world.” The creator smiled as he greeted what he’d brought to life. “Your name will be Shiro, and I’m Ichigo.”With no surviving family, Ichigo seeks to right old wrongs, willing to use everything at his disposal, but revenge is a messy business. Nothing is ever as black and white, as good and evil, as right and wrong as it seems.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 58
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

A finger tapped -once, twice, thrice- against the dome of bare metal. The sound it produced was not quite hollow, dull, but dense and sturdy. There was weight to it. Something hummed to life and the contraption stiffened, metal clicking and gears thrumming quietly as limbs slowly collected. 

A wide smile flashed across handsome features. “Time to wake up.” The voice was smooth, not quite sing-song. He’d worked on this one for a long time. His other attempts hadn’t been quite what he’d wanted, flawed, but there was something in each of them that he’d liked and aspects he’d called successful. This time, he’d combined all the parts of the first creations into this one, into something better, something more. This one would do what he needed it to do and be what he needed it to be.

The creator backed up and watched as his creation took its first, artificial breaths. Circuits ran through a series of initial tests as it learned itself and its functions. The fingers, long and slim, twitched, before slowly curling to make fists. The shoulders rolled back, straightening a bowed, metal spine. The lolling head tipped to one side, before equilibrium was found and ghosty features lifted. The face was uncanny; white like porcelain, smooth, yet to be painted to make it more life-like, but still distinctly human. It was doll-like, almost, the expression blank, peaceful.

“Come on,” The creator encouraged quietly, “Open your eyes. We need to do a systems check before we start trial runs.” But he was patient. It wasn’t easy learning to be alive, after all. Sometimes the initial start up took time while the AI mapped itself to the shell. He glanced at his watch, keeping track of start up speeds. The core was running; he could hear it humming, so quiet that, had he not known to listen for it, he might have missed it. 

The dangling legs twitched in minute spasms, before the fists unclenched and the lips parted in a deep inhale that swelled the chest. Gears whirred, quiet and ghostly. 

“Ah. There we go. Found the rest of yourself, didn’t you?”

Finally, in the dimly lit room, the eyes opened. Like the internals, the mechanical parts under the white shell, the artificial sclera were black, surrounding sharp, cold, golden irises. The pupils dilated, blown wide, before constricting as the android’s vision calibrated to focus on the face before it.

“Welcome to the world.” The creator smiled as he greeted what he’d brought to life. “Your name will be Shiro, and I’m Ichigo.”

••••••

Rain pattered against the ground and the sides of the building. Rivulets of dirty water ran in little, twisting streams down the bricks. It soaked long, white hair and dripped against blueing, bloated features. Pale fingers spasmed around the throat they were clenched against. The figure writhed, choking and clawing at cold, synthetic skin to little effect. Something delicate creaked, then crunched below palms and blood vessels burst in the figure’s wide, bulging eyes. The frantic scuff of kicking feet against blacktop slowed to feeble twitches as desperate gasps for air faltered and became wet gurgles.

And then, all at once, sharp agony ripped across inhuman sensors and the hands fled from around a crushed trachea with a howl of rage and artificial pain. One of those hands dropped to the jutting handle of a knife, where it buried deep in the android’s side, between steel ribs. As it spun on its new attacker, another sharp stab of pain and the warning flair of sensors slipped against its spin; a second blade jamming against knots of metal and getting stuck in the tangle of coated wiring the spine protected. For half a second, the android shuddered, then froze, the gold eyes losing focus. But only for a moment, before backup systems rebooted and Shiro lunged at its newest assailant. 

The knife in its side was ripped free and flung aside so swiftly and with so much force that it thunked against the brick wall of the adjacent building and stuck fast. Heavy, metal footfalls gained speed as the android lurched to grab for its new target.

Back at home, Ichigo checked his watch. Missions had been successful thus far. Shiro preformed far better than his other creations had, far better than he’d expected it to. There was more personality to it than he’d meant to give the AI, but he found himself enjoying the company, even if aspects of it were beginning to develop in oddly disturbing ways. 

Looking up from his watch with a mild frown, he was just turning to his laptop when a neon red warning began flashing across a screen hovering to his left. There was no volume or tone to the warning, instead, it flared bright and obnoxious in the low lighting of his work space, bathing other screens and desktops and machinery in sickly red.

Ichigo sighed, spinning his chair to face Shiro’s monitor and control system. “Better not have gotten stuck somewhere again.” For being the most advanced artificial intelligence around, they still occasionally ran into ridiculous bugs. He frowned at the numbers scrolling across the screen for a moment, before realizing it was a damage code. “Shit-!” He swiped the flashing, red warning sign from the touch screen, pulling up the diagnostics. The spread eagle, skeletal image had an angry red damage report flashing up and down the spine and Ichigo cursed again, grabbing the keys to his truck. Before he rushed to pick the android up, though, he absently slid the damage report to the bottom corner with one hand and used his other to tab through to a live feed.

Despite being unable to see Shiro itself, the damage was still obvious on the screen. The feed glitched, cutting in and out, distorted. But the android was still up and moving, still functioning well enough to be carrying out its mission, so Ichigo settled back in his chair again, fingering the vehicle key as he watched. He winced at the crack of bone from over the audio. Then the feed whirled as Shiro spun on its heel, head snapping around. Enhanced vision zoomed in on another figure at the far end of the alley. 

The man stared back, then took a few steps closer and Ichigo could hear over the feed, in a confused tone, as the stranger frowned, “Everything ok, buddy? Where’s– Hey, what the fuck–“

Ichigo leaned closer to the screen. Through the distortion caused by the damaged neural cabals along the android’s spine, Ichigo was able to make out a well built man in plain clothes and a coat, likely a civilian. He tapped another button, flipping through different enhancements; x-ray, heat, night vision, but none were working right. Still, he was certain the man wasn’t armed, else he would have surely pulled a weapon by now. But Shiro was in motion again, lurching towards the stranger at the end of the alley as the man backed up a cautious, confused step.

“Shiro,” Ichigo said over the feed as he patched himself through. “Respond.”

A distorted, hollow voice rang back to him. The response was simple. “Witness.”

“What? Look, I didn’t see shit…”

Ichigo ignored the civilian, whom clearly couldn’t hear him and only Shiro. “Shiro. He’s a civilian, an unarmed civilian. Disengage.”

“Witness.”

“No-! Shiro, disengage.” Ichigo cursed under his breath, a litany of colorful words, as the android shot forward again. The civilian gave it a good hit, sliding a foot back and winding up. The punch was hard enough to rock Shiro’s head back, forcing the momentum from its steps. But the head snapped back into place and the eyes refocused on the man. “Dammit, Shiro- Abort! Mission canceled.” 

On the screen, Ichigo saw metallic, colorless fingers reach out and clench in the man’s coat, a big, scarred up hand winding around Shiro’s metal wrist, the knuckles cut and bleeding from Shiro’s solid features. The features above Shiro’s fisted hand were filled with disbelieving confusion. The diagnostics hovering in the corner of the screen showed as cables twisted and tensed in the opposite shoulder, arm and back, as Shiro prepared to pay the stranger back in kind. But the android finally hesitated. “Disengage initiated.” The distorted voice parroted, but the body was still tense, humming with energy, struggling between reacting to outside stimuli and listening to orders.

Ichigo breathed a sigh of relief. “Return for repairs.” The feed fuzzed out almost entirely and Ichigo again fingered the key in his hands, worried he’d be hunting for his android. Before the link could be severed, he pulled up yet a third tab, this one showing a tracker and an approximate location on GPS. It was usually only half a dozen yards off, and in the city, there wasn’t as many places for a man-sized body to fall and be lost. There were also a whole lot more people to potentially come across Shiro if it lost power, though, which was a problem.

When the feed cleared again, it was sideways, the blacktop filling half the field of vision. “What the hell? Shiro, respond.” He enlarged the screen some, then flipped back to the damage report to see the chart’s cranium flaring red. 

The sound of Shiro’s report through the feed was stuttering and uneven. “D-d-dow-nnn“ An electronic hum, before the android’s voice grated a manual request. “Reboot… Reboot… Reb-”

“Fuck. Granted.” Ichigo pulled out the keyboard and typed a few keys, hitting enter. The feed went blank and the damage report went dark, before flaring back to life. When it remapped to the android’s shell, the spine and skull still showed angry red damage. The visual feed fuzzed with static, but didn’t clear. “Shiro? Report.” He didn’t get a response. He waited a half dozen tense moments, then turned his chair to push away from the desk, but before he could get far, the GPS beeped, showing movement. It hovered in the alley for a while, before tracking down to the far end and hooking a turn down the next side street. After a few minutes, it became obvious that Shiro was coming home. He tried to get through a few more times, but was met with silence each attempt.

Deciding the android must have sustained heavy damage, he set about gathering his tools and spare parts, hoping nothing was damaged beyond repair. He liked this one, he didn’t want to have to scrap it and start again. But Shiro seemed to at least be functioning enough to listen to the failsafe that it was programmed with, the one that compelled it to return to base in case of minimal functionality.

Twenty-five minutes later, scraping, uneven steps sounded in the short corridor that led to a staircase and Ichigo spun his chair towards the shadowed stairwell, only to balk when Shiro stepped into view. “What the hell!? Shiro, is that– You brought the civilian here?!” 

Thrown over one shoulder, the man from the alley hung unconscious, limbs dangling. He was visibly larger than the android, but Shiro’s strength outmatched the average man and the android didn’t seem to struggle under the weight. The dragging, uneven gait seemed to come from physical damage instead. A cursory glance showed jagged punctures in the shell and exposed wiring. Black, thick lubricant dripped from the severed spinal column.

Ichigo pushed out a hissing sigh, “Is he alive? Lay him out on the table, then- Gently!” He watched the android pause, turning enough to give him a narrow look over one shoulder, before returning to lowering the man, more careful of its movements this time. “I swear, Shiro, if you were alive, I might consider killing you for this.”

Shiro grunted as it straightened.

Ichigo wheeled up to the table, “Return to your cradle.” He instructed absently, as he frowned at the unconscious man. “More beat up than I thought you were…” He mumbled to himself, reaching out to the take the visible hand, running careful fingers against the cuts and bruises that lined the knuckles. “Shouldn’t have tried hitting a robot with a metal head, dumbass.” He pushed aside the collar of the heavy coat, finding a strong pulse. 

Further into the room, in one corner, Shiro turned around to face the center, then backed up a step to lock itself into the cradle; a device Ichigo built to hardwire the android into his computer system. Gears whirred and connections sparked as the upright table linked it in, connectors in a row along the table lining up with similar ports in its spine. The computer it was hooked up to began running a more complete damage report and systems check, highlighting strips of code to indicate where repairs were needed. 

Ichigo glanced over at the android as quiet ticks racked a tally on the computer, his expression somewhat regretful. “Sorry, Shiro. I didn’t realize you’d taken so much internal damage…” The pale features shifted into an almost smirk, pale lips parting, but instead of words, a garbled sound not unlike a skipping record issued forth, before the android shut its mouth and the expression shifted into a scowl. Ichigo smiled, “Glad to see your AI isn’t damaged, though. You just rest, now, I’ll take a look at you after I make sure our guest is alright.”

Turning back to the table, he started to feel along the man’s head, threading his fingers through thick hair to search for wounds that might have rendered him unconscious, but stopped as he was bent over him. Frowning, he let his eyes track over the man. In the heavy, winter coat, it was difficult to really get a look at him, but something seemed off about the way he laid. His fingers pulled back and found the zipper of the coat, drawing it down and pushing the jacket open. The chest below rose and fell in even breathes; a good enough sign, but the weight and shape was wrong. Ichigo pushed the coat open wider, then froze. “Oh…” He whispered to himself. The left sleeve of the jacket was empty and the tank top the man wore below his coat was revealing enough. The wound of his missing arm was healed, but angry and raw still. It couldn’t have been more than a few months old. Other scars, older by far, peeked out around the white cloth of the shirt; across his sternum and collar bone, over one shoulder. Ichigo’s fingers hovered over the marks of a hard, violent life, hesitating, before pulling back. He re-zipped the coat.

Dropping his hands to the wheels of his chair, he turned himself around and crossed the room again, to where Shiro rested in its cradle. “Why did you bring him back?”

Shiro stared down at him. “Wit– wit-“ Pale, artificial features twisted in frustration.

“Witness. Right. Did you forget I told you to disengage?” The android had blacked out, shut down, and rebooted. It was possible that it’d lost some time. 

Shiro’s head tilted, long, rain-wet hair swaying out to the side, and arched a brow in silent question. Not far away, the computer chimed as the last of the diagnostics was finished and gold eyes shifted in that direction.

Ichigo watched gold irises go over the lines of Shiro’s own code, knowing the android knew what the letters and numbers meant, then sighed. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Still, it hadn’t outright killed the man, like had been Shiro’s original intentions. Thinking that over for a moment, Ichigo scowled up at it again, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you– You’re lying to me, aren’t you? When did you learn that, you little shit?”

The android’s cold eyes shifted back to him and pale features started to split into a smirk, but then those eyes snapped up and passed Ichigo and the beginnings of a smirk dropped into a threatening sneer.

His own eyes widening, Ichigo twisted his upper body to look over his shoulder, meeting cool, blue eyes from the other side of the room. “Uh. Hello… So. This is awkward.” He glanced back up at Shiro, then, turning his chair to face the stranger, wheeled himself backward towards the computer throwing up damage reports. “I’m going to start repairs, but you should know, we don’t want to hurt you. I’m not sure why you’re here and it can’t seem to tell me right now, but it’s functioning enough to stop you if you try to leave or try to come at me.” As if to prove what he was saying, Shiro stepped out of the cradle, the wires in the back of it detaching from its spine with small snaps. “I’d like to use that table. If you don’t mind, you can sit over there, please.” He motioned with a sweep of his arm, towards a desk and chair on the other side of the cradle, the opposite side of the room from the staircase.

Blue eyes flickered around the room, taking in the space, before landing and lingering on the only visible doorway briefly. The stranger’s attention ultimately returned to Ichigo and the android, though. He raised his hand to press the heel against his temple in a wince, and scooted to the edge of the table. It was low, and he did a subtle double take as he realized the man in front of him was in a wheel chair. “What the hell is that thing?” He asked, straightening, eyeing the standing, pale creature that had attacked him warily as he passed it, giving it as wide a berth as the room would allow for.

“Its name is Shiro.” Ichigo said, shutting the laptop the cradle was synced up to and pulling it into his lap. He motioned the android closer and Shiro came up behind him to grab the chair and guide Ichigo to the table. 

Once across the room and without prompt, Shiro lowered itself to the table like it’d done it a million times.

“It can speak.”

Ichigo looked over, then nodded. “Yeah, well. It’s not doing so great right now, but yeah, it’s learning to speak.”

“Learning? It’s… But it’s a robot, isn’t it?”

Ichigo shrugged, setting the laptop down on the table beside where Shiro sat and opening it up again. He frowned at the screen, tapping a finger against the table in thought as he split his attention between his work and the stranger in his work space. “An android, technically. It’s a very advanced AI. Dammit. These reports aren’t great, Shiro. Severed the left side of the spinal column and damaged the neural network. We’ll have to pull you apart to fix it. And what even happened to your head…?” He squinted at the screen a moment longer, then motioned for Shiro to lay down. Whatever happened to the android’s skull had been the cause of the loss of power, he was certain.

Before complying, the android held up its hand, pinky, ring, and middle finger curled while the thumb and forefinger were straight. 

“Ah. Gunshot. Lovely. It’s going to be a mess in there. Lucky it didn’t go all the way through and shatter your face plate.”

The android grunted.

“You built it?”

Ichigo turned again, but nodded, “Yeah, I built it and wrote the programming.” He lifted the hem of his shirt some, then pushed a button on the arm of his chair. Metal bands embedded in leg rests of the wheelchair tightened around his legs; one at ankle, calf, below and above the knee, mid thigh. Another band closed and tightened around his hips, one at waist, and another higher up at midriff. He lowered his shirt back over the strap, then bent forward to use his hands to pull first one leg, then the other, out of the rests of the chair. It took a moment to find his footing, but he stood from the chair, a hand against the table for support. The brace hummed quietly as it took his weight and adjusted. “That’s what I do,” He said, shifting his balance, then carefully walking around to the head of the table. “I build things.”

The brown eyes that turned his way were sharp, intelligent. For all the man’s politeness and the underlying awkwardness that came with not interacting with people much, he was cunning, clever. 

“And what about you? Who are you?” Ichigo grabbed a wrench and got to work as he spoke. “My android brought you here for a reason, it’s not programmed to do things without logic.”

His mind raced, eyes flickering towards the door again, but he knew he wouldn’t make it if he tried to make a run for it. That android had flattened him in seconds, even after being shot from behind. He couldn’t remember what had happened after that, but clearly the android had gotten away and had had enough time to snatch him on the way. It seemed a safe bet that it hadn’t asked the gunman politely to be allowed to walk free. He’d woken up to voices and movement, only to find himself someplace completely foreign, in a building -a house? -he’d never seen before. And aside from the hum of electronics, all without seemed silent; none of the usual city traffic, or the nearby ocean, no car horns or whistling wind. The single doorway that led out of this place was dark, but he thought it might have been a staircase, which made little sense given the inhabitant’s disability. 

He may not have known where he was, but it hadn’t taken him long to realize who he was with. Infamous, was this man, despite the secrecy and rumors. The killer robot was a surprise, though.

“I’m just a guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. A nobody. I wont tell anybody about all this. Hell, I’m not even sure what I’m seeing.”

“I know you wont.” 

The man bristled, straightening where he sat. “Is that a threat?”

“No.” Ichigo said, distracted, as he dropped his wrench beside the half dozen bolts he’d loosened. Wrapping fingers around cool, smooth, colorless steel, he pulled loose the section of Shiro’s spine. He twisted it in his hands, finding a few scuffs and scratches, but not much overall damage to the shell. Most of the damage that was more than just cosmetic was internal, where a knife had found a soft spot in the shell and made it to the wiring below. He set the spinal plate aside. “Alright, Shiro, expect some numbness.” The android hummed an electronic sound, bringing its left arm up to rest its chin against, cold, yellow eyes fastened unblinkingly upon the stranger. “No,” Ichigo stated again, addressing said stranger, “I don’t make threats. I don’t need to.”

The man was long in replying, “You’re a Kurosaki, aren’t you?”

This got Ichigo’s attention. His hands tightened, bracing against the table, as he turned his head to stare the man down with as impassive an expression as he could manage.

“The son.” The stranger nodded, almost to himself, cool blue eyes traveling Ichigo’s features and figure. “I see it now. The hair. You’re all supposed to be dead, but you made it, didn’t you? See, you’re not the only one that can make vague threats like that.”

“The difference,” Ichigo said lowly, voice tight, “Is that I have a killer android that will make sure you don’t leave here with what you know.”

“Can it even move still? Half its spine is laying on that slab, you said-“

“Numbness, yes. But.” And Ichigo pushed back a half step, away from the table. “Shiro; initiate standby.”

“In- In-“ It struggled to voice a copy of the command, something too damaged in its head to allow for full speech, “Ndby.” But its arms slid upward to wrap fingers tight around the end of the table, its gaze unwavering, sharp, like a sniper’s scope, upon the man. It fell still, poised, artificial muscle tight and ready, coiled tight like it was ready to spring. As realistic as it was, the thing’s fullest attention was uncanny; lifelike, but not alive. It looked ready to launch, like a predator awaiting the exact moment its prey would trigger the instinct to chase.

“Numbness doesn’t slow an AI the way it slows a person.” Ichigo intoned, “Who are you?”

“…fuck.” The word was hardly a whisper, as blue eyes anchored on the android’s own stare, unable to look away from it, like to blink was to miss the moment it came after him. He finally held up his hand in something like surrender, “Fine, fine. Fuck. My name’s Grimmjow. That’s it, just a guy who walked down the wrong street while your killer bot was out.”

“How do you know who I am?”

“Who doesn’t know that story? Just because it’s dangerous to talk about doesn’t mean no one does.”

Hard, brown eyes took in the man for a moment longer, before going back to the task at hand. “My first name’s Ichigo. Call me that.” He tapped a light finger against Shiro’s back. “Shiro; stand down. Let’s get back to work.”

The android settled back, fingers uncurling from around the edge of the table. One hand lifted to tap a finger, in a mimic of Ichigo’s motion, against the side of the android’s head. “Fi- cks.”

“I will.” Ichigo said, a slight smile tilting his lips, “But fixing your wiring is more pressing. I’ll fix your speech center and visual outputs next.”

Pale features twisted, but it nodded, recrossing one arm to pillow its chin while it watched their guest.

Grimmjow forced himself to relax back in the chair, hand tight on the armrest, resigning himself to wait this out and see what happened. Considering he faced a man that was apparently paralyzed, he was at quite the disadvantage here. “There were rumors that there were survivors.” He said lowly, watching as busy hands stilled momentarily, before resuming.

Ichigo grunted. “Just one survivor.”

“Would you tell me if there was more than just you?”

“No.” The word was sharp. “How’d you lose your arm, Grimmjow?”

The bigger man went rigid all over again, his remaining hand migrating up to the stump of his missing arm to absently rub at the ache there through the sleeve of his coat. “Point taken.” He conceded, then muttered, “Damn thing still hurts sometimes, especially when I think about it.”

“Phantom pain.” Ichigo nodded, then turned a lopsided, somewhat sympathetic smile on the man. “You know, I’ve been paralyzed for years now and still there are days where it feels like I’ve stubbed my toe, or ran ten miles, or wake up feeling like I’ve slept with my legs bent at an uncomfortable angle. Other days, I could drop a hot soldering iron into my lap and not know it until I smell burning. It’s a cruel joke, and it never really goes away, but you learn to live with it.”

“You gonna let me live long enough to find out?”

That smile turned sadder, before Ichigo turned away again. “I hope to. Shiro’s put me in an awkward postion, and you knowing who I am makes it worse.” 

But he wasn’t making promises and Grimmjow didn’t miss that. “I’m not so sure it matters.” He decided, stretching his legs out before him and slouching in the chair a bit. He didn’t have much to lose at this point. “If you let me live and let me out of here, I mean. The guys that took my arm aren’t done. Next time I’m short, they’ll take something else.”

Ichigo didn’t look up, arm buried half way into the shell below him, grease smearing his hands and forearm, but the scowl on his features was obvious even from across the room. “You owe money? That’s why you’re missing an arm? Because you owe someone–“ He stopped dead, a single name creeping into this thoughts.

Grimmjow seemed not to have noticed, or didn’t care. In truth, he knew the name on Ichigo’s tongue and could well enough guess his opinions. “No. Messed up years ago and been having a bad run ever since. The money is just their excuse.”

“Seems we might have something in common.” Ichigo muttered, pulling his hand free of Shiro’s body cavity and using a wrench to tighten bolts back into place. With the spinal plate back where it belonged, he side stepped further toward the end of the table to where Shiro’s head rested, a hand trailing the edge of the table in case he misstepped. He worked his fingertips under the edge of synthetic hair, peeling back the android’s scalp once he found the joins, so that he could begin fixing the rest of it. After digging around for a few quiet minutes, he sucked his teeth and straightened to turn, searching across the room in the direction of the cradle and the tools and supplies he had near it. 

Longer than it was wide, the room was fairly large but didn’t look it at a glance. It had a cramped air about it, but only because there was a lot of large objects crowding the space; the cradle, the table, desk and work bench, rigging for wall mounted screens and moveable lights. The whole space had the look of organized chaos; clean, maintained, but used and far from sterile. Old grease and oil and who knew what else stained the otherwise bare concrete floor. The walls were unfinished drywall, chipped and showing the signs of having been run into by the various things in the room. It was probably close to forty paces from the chair Grimmjow occupied to the shadowed doorway that led out and about half as wide. 

The twenty strides it would take to get from one side of the room to the other may not have been much for most people, but it was a far walk for Ichigo.

“You get around pretty well for a guy who took a bullet to the spine.” Grimmjow said, standing from his chair. It wasn’t hard to see that Kurosaki didn’t waste too much movement if he could avoid it. Those braces must not have done all the work, or weren’t as well built as his android.

Brown eyes turned sharply towards him. At the same time, the android’s head snapped up to pin him with a look that was decidedly threatening, hair and scalp laying on the table beside it to expose the back of its head and the workings within, all coated in black rubber of some sort that stood out starkly against the white of the rest of it. Grimmjow again held up his lone hand, then pointed towards the upright table he’d seen the android standing in when he’d woken up. “What you’re looking for’s over here, right? Let me grab it for you.”

Ichigo frowned, but leaned back against the table behind him, letting it take some of his weight. He liked being able to move under his own power, to stand and get around, but it took a lot out of him. The chair was easier on him. “I took more than just one bullet that night.” He said, then pointed, “To the right of the cradle, in that tall tool box, the third drawer down. There should be a speech processor.” He rapped his knuckles against the metal band wrapped around one thigh. “This lets me stand, even walk short distances. It provides the strength I no longer have, but my legs are still mostly numb on a good day. It doesn’t return feeling to dead nerves. I can’t feel what I’m doing, where I’m putting my foot down, if I’m on level ground or standing on something. I can’t feel if my foot catches or if I trip until it’s too late. I have to be able to see where I’m going and where I’m stepping.” And the more he used the brace, the more he tried to push himself and his damaged body, the more he hurt. He knew, of course, that most of the ache in his legs was fake, just his brain running on the memory of using untested muscle. But the pain that shot through his spine, sharp enough to tighten his lungs, was real.  
Pulling the indicated drawer open, Grimmjow glanced back at him, eyes scanning the metal bands of the brace, before he began digging through the contents. “Why don’t you just build yourself new legs? You can make a whole person.”

“It looks kind of like a bank card wrapped in black rubber. Flat, about three inches long. One side’s open and there will be ports for input and output, with wires coming from it.” Ichigo described what he needed absently, before he huffed a short laugh. “Believe me, I’ve thought about it. But I still have my legs. There’s nothing organic inside Shiro. I’d have to amputate and then operate on myself. I haven’t come up with a feasible way to turn myself into a cyborg yet. In the mean time, I’m forced to settle for coming up with tools to make my life a little easier.”

Grimmjow held up an object fitting the description.

Ichigo nodded, then held up his hands, “Toss it, don’t come close. You’re not the only one that knows I can’t move fast enough to get out of the way. You come too close and Shiro stops you. Its standard procedure includes protecting its creator, it doesn’t require a command.”

Blue eyes flickered towards the android again, seeing that the thing’s unnerving gaze had followed him as he’d crossed the room, but Grimmjow tossed the speech processor underhanded to the Kurosaki heir. “Why do you think I want to hurt you?”

“I think everyone wants to hurt me, else the largest crime lord in the country wouldn’t have ordered me and my entire family murdered. I know he suspects I’m alive, I know there’s a price on my head. He’s got everyone in his pockets, and you’ve had dealings with him.”

“He took my damn arm.” Grimmjow all but growled, defensive.

“And you still owe him.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is officially finished, so it will be updating regularly :)
> 
> Enjoy!

They’d talked through the entire evening and most of the night while Ichigo repaired his android. Ichigo, having lived in near isolation since taking up residence in the multi-story building years ago, had forgotten what it was like to have another person to keep company with. Sure, he spoke to Shiro often enough and Shiro was exceptionally realistic, but the android was still learning, repeating things already heard more than actually forming its own thoughts. It’d get there, Ichigo believed, as its intuitive AI learned to navigate social behaviors and cues. But for now, Shiro wasn’t a substitute for human interaction and Ichigo’s paranoia, well deserved as it was, had kept him from truly rejoining the world. He didn’t have friends, his family was dead. He knew rumors had long since run their course, about a survivor from all those years ago, about a child who made it out, who was pronounced dead on the scene only to be resuscitated in the back of an ambulance. But there were very few people who actually knew it to be fact. Even of those few, none knew him by his proper name, and none of them had any social or political standing. They were average, everyday people, people he called on for basic tasks he needed help with; grocery delivery, the occasional odd job around the house that was too big for a single man, let alone one more or less bound to a wheelchair. One was a neighbor, another a hired handyman. He was personable enough with them during their rare visits, and he always compensated them for their generosity, but he made no effort to connect with them. It was safer for them that way, and easier for him.

Contrastingly, Grimmjow was, ichigo knew, being friendly on purpose. Whenever the conversation stalled, whenever Ichigo lost himself in his work, the man would find a way to get him talking again. He’d ask questions, he’d change subjects, he’d talk about himself, but never anything too personal, only ever things Ichigo might be able to relate to, only things that could be sympathized with. He spoke about his early childhood, holidays and birthdays with a single parent, but avoided saying anything about his later teens, when a boy should have been in his last years of school.

Ichigo knew as well that there was a reason behind it. He doubted very much that this man, dragged against his will into a stranger’s basement, was this talkative and freely friendly normally. No, Ichigo knew Grimmjow was buying time. The man knew his life hung in the balance, awaiting Ichigo’s decision like an executioner’s axe, and so he was doing what he could to swing the vote in his favor. 

All the carefully selected memories he shared and questions he asked were meant to paint a picture, meant to give Ichigo a sense of having known the man. It was harder to kill someone you felt you knew, even if you had an android to do the dirty work and keep your hands clean. Ichigo understood all of this, and he couldn’t blame the man. 

And it worked.

Ichigo, long into the night, sent him on his way with the very real warning that if Ichigo so much as got paranoid that Grimmjow might have told his pet cat that Ichigo was alive, he’d send Shiro to find him. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know where Grimmjow called home; he’d send Shiro to scour the city. He’d find all of Grimmjow’s haunts, where he worked, who he spoke to, what time he ate, his favorite shitty take out place. He’d find him and he wouldn’t stop Shiro from brutally murdering him this time. The android had grinned, the expression uncanny; too real and yet lifeless all the same.

With the early morning sun bleeding color into the sky, Ichigo called it a night. He gestured the android off the table after the last bolt was replaced and the scalp and hair were molded back over bare, cold steel. “Help me back into my chair.” He instructed, stiff and wincing as he rested a flat palm against the table, leaning his weight into it. He knew he’d regret pushing his limits in the morning. Hell, he already did, but Shiro had needed work and he hadn’t wanted to seem weak around the stranger. Fire ebbed and flared up and down his spine and across his hips. The mock of an ache settled in his knees and he pushed out an annoyed hiss of air, trying to ignore it even as it stole most of his attention.

Shiro positioned the chair, then took its creator’s arm and guided him down into it, unmindful of the pained harshness of the grip around its wrist. For all that the android was created to destroy, to be more than human and still capable of all the terrible things humans could do, it was surprisingly adept at controlling that artificial strength, as it compensated for Ichigo’s weight and lack of mobility. 

It took him a long moment to actually relax back into the chair, willing the stiffness from himself before he bent forward to pull his legs into place and unwind the braces from around his limbs. They clicked into place against the chair and the hum of energy that gave him the ability to stand quieted. He looked up to Shiro, shaking his head as the android looked back down at him. “Why did you let me do that?”

The android stared at him for a moment, then glanced toward the foot of the stairs that were rarely used, and until now, only by it, as if searching for the social cues needed to figure out what Ichigo was asking it. Then it shrugged in a gesture Ichigo had never seen it preform before. “I could retrieve him still.”

Ichigo sighed, “No, I went out of my way to make sure you didn’t kill him. We’ll see what happens first.” but the hint of a smirk worked across his lips. “You’re learning, Shiro. Maybe exposing you to someone else was good for you.”

The android blinked, then frowned and crossed its arms over its chest.

Ichigo laughed, waving it toward the far end of the room. “Good night, Shiro.”

Taking the command, Shiro walked over to the cradle, turning to back itself into it and stepping up into the formfitting shape that nestled around the android when it was at rest. “G’night.” It responded, leaning its head back in place. The censors that lined up with its spine let out little static charges as they were activated and the display on the cradle began running lines of code. Shiro didn’t necessarily need to close its eyes, but it usually did when at rest; an odd affectation to be sure. 

Using a hand to push one wheel of his chair, Ichigo frowned about the odd shortening of the android’s words as he turned his chair to head in the opposite direction of the cradle. “Seems there’s still something wrong with your speech center.” He said as much to himself as the android, “It’ll have to wait until I get some sleep.” The cradle would have any errors found and assessed by then, and with any luck, it’d be a simple fix. 

A lift he’d built into the basement, which was manually operated with a crank, took him to the next floor up, where he wheeled himself down a hallway. At one end was the master bedroom and two other bedrooms, both of which sat empty, the doors pulled closed and the rooms left to collect dust. The other end of the hall opened up into a larger space, with a sitting area, dining room, the kitchen and a front foyer. Those spaces were mostly empty as well, containing the bare minimum furniture and necessities to make the house functional for him. There was a couch that sat just a little lower than average, making it easier for him to use, and a television he wasn’t even sure actually worked. The kitchen was mostly furnished, but he rarely cooked. The front door, which opened out onto a wide porch, part of which had to be knocked down and rebuilt by his handyman to accommodate a ramp, was the oddest part of the whole space. Four locks and an alarm system adorned it, all set low enough for Ichigo to reach.

The wooden floor underfoot creaked, radiating the coolness in the air. The walls were bare, picture-less. The house could have been mistaken for unoccupied, if it weren’t for the bedroom and the basement, and of course the stock of food in the kitchen. The basement was by far the most personalized of the spaces Ichigo used. All his work was down there, schematics for projects and various buildings around the city, plans, diagrams and drawings, handwritten fragments of code and math equations, all hidden from view. All his time was spent there, working, building, improving and rebuilding, moving the chess pieces that were within his reach as he wielded Shiro like a weapon.

He spent the next few days trying to figure out what was going on with Shiro’s speech center, to no avail. At one point, he even laid the android back out and opened it up again, unhooking the new speech processor to be sure it wasn’t faulty somehow, but no, Shiro’s hardware was fine. The output ran smoothly, and neither the cradle nor Ichigo could find any flaws in the android’s code that might produce such an error. In fact, an error wasn’t even being thrown up. After days of frustration over it, Ichigo decided it must just have been a quirk belonging to the android’s developing personality. He considered reworking some of the code to see if he could manually correct it, but decided it wouldn’t really be fair of him to expect the AI to build its own personality just for him to decide what was acceptable and what wasn’t, especially with something so harmless. He’d just have to get used to it. It was unexpected, but not all that worrying and maybe a little fascinating, even.

It was about a week later that Ichigo finally sent Shiro back out, more or less content that Grimmjow hadn’t and wasn’t going to say anything to anyone. He still didn’t really trust the man, but surely if he was going to talk, he would have by now. Ichigo had his place on lock down and he’d seen nothing concerning.

“All right, Shiro.” He said, leaning back in his chair. Arrayed on the screen in front of him, various still images of a dockside warehouse were arranged, enlarged so that he could better see what the android was seeing. This was their first stealth mission. Well, not Ichigo’s first, but the first time he’d tried something stealthy with this particular android. He’d built Shiro with fast reactions and strength in mind, and it excelled in that thus far, but in theory, the android should have been capable of this all the same. “Begin mute communications protocol.”

There was a pause, where the live feed on the screen tilted slightly and Ichigo realized a bit belatedly that the android had tilted its head as if contemplating the command, before a single word scrawled across the screen in dull gold coloring; CONFIRMED. 

Ichigo smirked, pleased. 

The android still had the ability to speak and produce sounds, but its programing was working correctly, allowing it to shift between verbal and nonverbal responses as Ichigo wished, while still communicating effectively with its operator. It had never been tested before, but Ichigo suspected that, given sufficient reasoning, Shiro would be able to override the command and speak freely even under mute protocol.

“Great. Remember, the mission is to gain intel. Focus on names, places and dates. Avoid detection.”

The android didn’t respond, verbally or otherwise, but Ichigo watched the feed as Shiro began moving forward, skirting the large, metal building as it closed in on an opening. A steady, wintery drizzle made a white noise in the background and the occasional gust of wind from the sea whistled between buildings. Pale, metallic hands lifted into view, gripping around the frame of a small window set high in the wall. Those fingers dug under the edge of the frame, then hooked and began pulling, bending the corrugated steel away. It groaned quietly under the steady pressure, but it wasn’t long before the android was able to get to the edges of the glass itself. It took the android some jockeying to figure out how to get the entire panel of glass and its accompanying casing out without breaking it and making too much noise, but it managed. Tugging the window, frame and all, free, Shiro lowered it carefully to the ground, leaning it against the building, then straightened to again wrap fingers around the metal of the building. It effortlessly began pulling its weight up in slow, steady increments until it could peer over the edge and into the building.

Ichigo leaned forward in his chair, watching as the feed panned from one side of the visible space to the other in a quick scan. The space was large and open. A loosely organized collection of boxes and wooden crates took up one side and Ichigo was just about to tell the android to use them for cover when Shiro began moving again, lifting itself higher to begin slipping into the warehouse. It was a bit of tricky maneuvering, since the window was small and higher than the android was tall, but Shiro managed to get through, dropping noiselessly to the solid, concrete floor on the other side. The noise of the wind ceased, but the rain pattered against the metal roof.

After what happened during the last mission -ending up with a civilian in his basement- Ichigo was wary to split his attention between his own work and what Shiro was doing. The android was more than capable of handling this sort of work, he was confident, but Shiro didn’t have a moral code and Ichigo’s wouldn’t allow for innocent casualties if they could be avoided. But more people discovering him and his whereabouts was out of the question as well. He sighed a deep breath, leaning back in his chair again, absently fiddling with a cold soldering pen.

It wasn’t long before a person came into view, pulling open a door beside the loading bay. The overhead lights flipped on and the feed’s brightness flared momentarily as Shiro’s vision adjusted. 

“Oh.” Ichigo muttered, scowling at the screen. “That’s one of Aizen’s higher paid guys.”

The purpose of this particular run was to figure out where to go next. It couldn’t stay secret forever that someone was picking off members of one of the most dangerous organizations in the city. Sooner or later, if it hadn’t happened already, someone would see the pattern. He needed all the information on where and when these meetings and business dealings were occurring he could get so that he could continue whittling down the canon fodder and get to the head of the snake. But finding his android alone in a metal building with someone so high on the totem pole was tempting. It could be an opportunity to deal a blow that would surely be felt.

While he was debating, however, the door opened again and in stepped a shorter man, escorted by half a dozen thugs. It still wasn’t a situation outside of Shiro’s abilities to handle, but it gave Ichigo pause, letting him weigh pros and cons, before deciding to stick with the original plan. 

To his surprise, the smaller one was addressed with a title that Ichigo knew to be a fairly high rank, and he wondered why the muscle was needed. Must have been new and untested, he decided, “And not trusted.” For good reason, though not the reason they thought. Duties were being handed out, giving the newcomer his first chance to prove himself, but Ichigo planned to make it a bad experience.

Still, he was fairly certain that the core ten members of the organization didn’t change hands often. He’d been digging into them for years, researching, pulling up every news article, every interview or public appearance Aizen and his men had made. Not all the members had showed up in his research, true, but there were enough rumors and mentions of ten for him to think it a safe bet. It seemed Aizen had favorites. Members one through four were fairly common to see around the man himself, known only by their numbers, while the rest were kept mostly in the shadows, presumably so they could do the more shady work that Aizen wanted to keep hidden. So it was true that he’d never seen Six’s face, but amongst all his research, going back to the years before his family was murdered, he’d never found evidence that a title was passed on to someone new. 

“Losing members, are you?” He mused to himself, watching the screen.

Eventually, when the meetup seemed to be coming to an end, Ichigo instructed his android to extract itself at the first opportunity it got, hands flat against the arms of his chair to push himself up higher, stretching his back and shoulders. For all that he’d gotten used to about being in a wheel chair, there were still times when he grew restless and discontent with it. It’s what had led him to dabbling in robotics in the first place. He wanted a better way to get around, wanted to walk again, and medical science wasn’t providing any answers. The brace he’d built himself was old as far as his creations went; older than Shiro by far. 

Satisfied as he was with his newest android, he’d decided to go back to the brace’s design and improve on it. His goals and missions would be that much easier to obtain if he could feasibly participate in a more hands-on way. That was being optimistic, though. In the mean time, he’d be happy to have a brace that let him more comfortably work on his android. No doubt, once they started working their way higher on the chain that was Aizen’s organization, Shiro would take more serious damage and need more labor intensive work.

Waiting for his android to complete what he was sure would be a boring return journey, Ichigo pushed away from his desk and monitors, to bend over his lowered work able. A new, better version of his brace had been laid out earlier in the day. The components to it, at any rate. Rounded metal bands, sturdy hinges, wires and switches and bolts, washers and screws were all scattered about the stainless steel surface in a loosely arrayed skeleton of what the brace itself would like like once put together, but he hadn’t gotten that far on this newest attempt. It was an important project, but it took backseat to the mission he used Shiro for.

When the sound of the door on the floor above reached him, he paused, smiled a bit, and went back to work, a soldering pen in hand and a respirator mask over his mouth and nose. He made a mental note to praise the android for a job well done once he got down to the basement.

The thought was wiped away, of course, when the sound of angry shouting reached him.

“Put me down, you piece of metal shit!” 

The sounds of struggling, of lashing out and kicking, reached down the upstairs hallway and floated almost gently down the stairs to reach Ichigo in his workshop. He set the hot iron down, tugging the mask down to hang around his neck as he turned his chair to face the staircase, brows arched over a surprised, but not too surprised, expression. That deep voice was, unfortunately, familiar. 

“I swear- Robot, put me the fuck dow-“ There was a startled yelp that cut off the furious demands, then a heavy thud that shuddered the old, wooden staircase and Grimmjow came tumbling into view, hitting the bottom step at an awkward angle and sliding across the floor in an ungraceful heap. He hissed a breath through clenched teeth as he came to a stop not more than two meters from Ichigo’s feet. He wrapped his arm over his chest to clench his hand against what was left of his other arm, jaw tight, and half rolled onto his side before he began pulling himself together enough to look around, anger flashing in blue eyes. “You fuckin’-“

“What the hell, Shiro?!” Ichigo’s fingers were a white knuckled grip around the wheels of his chair as the android casually walked down the stairs behind the man he’d just tossed.

“He said,” The android’s mouth moved, but instead of its own voice, it replayed Grimmjow’s exact words, “-put me the fuck down-“. For an android still learning the finer points of being alive, Shiro looked rather smug with itself.

“I didn’t mean throw me down the goddamn stairs!”

“I didn’t mean that.“ Again, Ichigo spoke over the bigger man slowly picking himself up off his floor, “Why is he here? Again?? And don’t you dare learn that word.”

“What?” Grimmjow’s voice was a shocked hiss as his head snapped around to glare at Ichigo. “You don’t even care he just threw a person down the stairs??”

Ichigo rolled his eyes, but as Grimmjow climbed to his feet, he edged himself back another foot or two. “Its designed to kill people, I’m not surprised you got a violent interpretation of what you were asking for.”

“I didn’t ask to be thrown down a flight of fuckin’ stairs! I didn’t ask to be brought here at all!” Grimmjow threw up his hand, the gesture angry and exasperated. It was aggressive enough to earn the android’s attention. Suddenly, Grimmjow found himself pressed hard against the wall, coughing as the air was shoved from his lungs and the android’s strength was enough to make his ribs creak. His lone hand clutched at the android, trying in vain to push it off of him. He could barely draw breath, so hard was he being held against the cool wall behind him, a cold forearm pressed to his throat, but he sneered down at the android, the sharp look in his eyes betraying some of the nervous wariness trickling down his spine.

“Ok, ok-!” Ichigo half reached out to his android, but didn’t actually come closer. “Shiro, stand down.”

Shiro’s head turned as it glanced over at its creator, but didn’t move just yet. “He threatened you.”

“He didn’t mean it, and he wont do it again. Will you, Grimmjow?”

Sneer still baring white teeth, the man shook his head, wheezing out his sarcastic agreement, “No, I was dragged here against my will in peace.” He even released the android to hold up his hand in surrender.

Gold eyes narrowed, but the android backed off.

Finally able to draw a full breath, Grimmjow coughed again, sagging away from the wall before he sidestepped the android wearily. “Asshole.” He muttered under his breath. All the damn thing did in response was tilt its head, still watching him. Grimmjow scowled in response, then turned his attention towards the creator of the robot. “Why am I here?”

“That’s an exceptional question.” Ichigo drawled, clearly as unhappy with this situation as Grimmjow was. Brown eyes coasted over to the android. “Shiro? Care to tell us?”

Shiro arched pale brows in a surprisingly decent parody of being innocent in all this. Its answer was a simple, “Witness.” It gestured towards Grimmjow, “Protocol overrode to spare the witness.”

“Why the fuck-?“

“Shut up.” Ichigo snapped absently, holding a staying hand out to Grimmjow and still looking at his android. “Right, Shiro, but why is he here this time? There’s no way you’re glitching hard enough to seek him out without command.”

The android frowned, head cocking slightly, and looked from Ichigo, to Grimmjow and back again. “Witness.” It repeated. “Protocol overrode-“

“Yes, yes,” Ichigo said, frustration starting to show in his voice. “I understand that. He was a witness last time you brought him here, a civilian witness, right?” He waited until the android nodded its agreement, “So why is he here this time? Why do you think he’s still a witness? We cleared it up, we let him go, remember?”

“Right…” Grimmjow drawled, eyeing the two of them. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll get the hell out of here before your psycho bot comes after me again. It was creepy the first time, it’s mildly terrifying this time.”

Ichigo sighed, scrubbing a hand down his features. “Shiro, move out of the way.” He shooed the android aside. Shiro seemed reluctant to let the stranger pass, but moved anyway, putting itself nearer Ichigo while leaving the stairwell clear. Ichigo turned his attention back to Grimmjow, “I’m sorry, I really have no idea what’s going on. I’ll get it worked out, this wont happen again.”

“God, I hope not.” Grimmjow said lowly, hesitating for a moment. His attention traveled the android, before landing back on Ichigo. With a slight nod, he turned and started up the stairs, “I’ll see myself out again.”

“For what it’s worth, be safe going home.” Ichigo called up the stairs after him. He listened to the footsteps moving upward. The second from the top step creaked louder than the rest. If he used the stairs, he might be interested in figuring out why and fixing it, but he didn’t, and Shiro wasn’t likely to get hurt if it fell through or tripped. When he was sure Grimmjow was gone, he turned back to his android to give it a withering look. “This is not helping us.” He told it, almost feeling bad when Shiro’s features fell into another frown. He shook his head, “Never mind. It’s hardly your fault. There’s bound to be a few kinks to work out in your programming. You did well on the mission.”

He maneuvered back to the table, pulling the mask back into place, and started working again.

What he didn’t know was that, while he’d been working and Shiro had extricated itself from the area around the warehouse, the android had again run into Grimmjow in the streets. It hadn’t sought the man out. Grimmjow had crossed a street and nearly run face first into the android as it had rounded a corner to exit an alley. An annoyed curse had left his mouth just before blue eyes panned up from the dirty sidewalk to see who he’d collided with, only for Grimmjow to freeze with the shock of recognition. His eyes had shifted over the android’s shoulder, to the warehouse not so far away, the warehouse he’d been headed toward, and back to the android. 

“Fuck-“

WITNESS. But the android had still been on mute, and the word had scrolled unseen upon the screen Ichigo wasn’t paying attention to at that point. It wasn’t entirely unlikely that Ichigo had heard Grimmjow over the feed, but it was a noisy city, bustling with cars and foot traffic, the howling winds and bitter rain that came with winter. Preoccupied with his work, Ichigo hadn’t noticed the familiar voice. And, still in stealth mode for its mission, Shiro had made sure it was the last sound Grimmjow was able to make at full volume.

Grimmjow couldn’t match the android’s inhuman strength and with only one arm, he couldn’t wrestle his way free, nor pull the hand clamped around his lower face and jaw loose. He was dragged from the street, a cold, metal forearm digging against his throat and cutting his air off. He struggled most of the way, until they got to a section of the city he recognized and he began to realize where he was being taken. Some part of him calmed down then, knowing that he’d not only end up in a place he’d been before, but face to face with a person and not trying to deal with this machine. He’d calmed himself down long enough to hope that the android would slacken its grip and maybe be lulled into thinking he was done. But he’d been wrong, and when he’d lashed out again with renewed energy, the damn thing had simply pulled him off his feet entirely to carry him into the house.

So here he was, storming back out of that damn house and away from its damn killer robot and the damn creator of said robot. He tugged his heavy coat tight around him, but had to let it fall back open to pull the hood up when the light drizzle became a full on rain. Zipping it seemed like the logical choice, but it wasn’t so easy when he only had one hand. He was still getting used to that. With the hood up, he tugged the coat snug around him again, hunkering down to stay as warm and dry as he could manage. 

He’d debated it at least a dozen times in the passed week; whether or not to talk. Outing the Kurosaki heir’s secret might get him a free pass, might clear his debt. And hell, while Aizen and his men were storming the old house, that android would surely take down at least a few, maybe even Aizen himself. It’d be a win/win, really. 

But that bastard had taken his arm. He wanted Aizen dead more than he wanted his slate wiped clean. Only one name, out of the thousands in the city, came to mind in his search for who else might want that. It was enough to keep him quiet, despite twice being abducted.

At the moment, however, he may have had bigger things to worry about. He was late, but he had the money and he was a smooth talker when he needed to be. Getting back to the docks took some time, insuring he was thoroughly drenched and shivering by the time he could smell the sea. 

He hesitated just outside the chainlink gate, eyeing the front of the warehouse. The vehicles were all still parked in the gravel lot, the loading door still rolled shut. If he’d gotten there ten minutes earlier than he had, he probably would have already been inside when the android had showed up. And he was certain the android had been at the warehouse and not simply in the area. It was too dead on, too well timed to be coincidence that he’d run into it just around the block. Kurosaki and his pet were stalking Aizen’s men like hunting cats. They weren’t there to make friends, and he’d seen the robot in action the week prior. For all Grimmjow knew, the inside of the warehouse was a bloody mess. Not being in a hurry to his meeting might have saved his life.

Gravel crunched underfoot as he stepped forward, shouldering the rolling vehicle gate open enough to fit through. He didn’t bother pulling it shut behind him, expecting to poke his head in, see blood, and hightail it out before someone else found the mess and called the police, or worse, Aizen. 

He traversed the short lot with a wary tenseness, glancing around at his surroundings, the vehicles parked off to one side in a neat row, the slimy puddles that rippled with raindrops lining one side of the drive. All looked to be in order and, as he laid a hand against the door and gave a careful, almost cautious push, he heard voices. A scowl instantly lined his features, something like disappointment bubbling in his gut instead of the relief he should have felt.

“Fuck.” He muttered under his breath, not for the first time that evening, and pushed the door open wider to step through. All eyes turned on him and a sneer curled his lip for a split second, before he affixed his expression into something more neutral, edging on boredom, and took in the person he was there to see and the lackeys accompanying him. He took note of the extra muscle and realized there must have been more business going on than he’d expected.

“You’re late.” Came an annoying voice that held an obvious, toothy grin. 

He ground his teeth in the effort not to growl. “Yeah. Well. Can’t really use my car anymore, ya know, need two hands for driving stick. Took longer to get across the city than I thought it would.” That sounded believable, right? “Can we get this over with? I don’t wanna stand around here any longer than you do.”

“Yeah yeah, don’t get yer panties in a twist. How much you got?” 

The warehouse was dry on the inside, but the winter air was still cool. It sent a shiver down his spine as his coat fell open. He dug around in an inside pocket, producing a damp, unmarked envelope. He handed it over, “A quarter, like agreed.”

The man took a gangly step forward, reaching out to accept it. Opening the envelope, he flipped through the cash briefly, before a lone eye redirected up at Grimmjow. “Not short?”

Grimmjow hated this man. Loan sharks were bad enough, they were even worse when it came time to pay them back, especially when you used to work with them. “No, asshole, it’s not short.”

The envelope was folded in half and pocketed. “I believe ya.” The man grinned over-wide and dropped a hand onto Grimmjow’s shoulder, squeezing with just enough pressure to earn a subtle wince. “Besides, I know exactly where to find you if it is.” He laughed like it was his funniest joke yet, pulling his hand away, and strode passed Grimmjow to head for the door. “I like you more than the new Sexta, hurry and get this shit paid off so we can dispose of the little shit.”

As much as he hated this man, as much as he hated Aizen and all his espada, that was almost flattering. “Touch me again, Nnoi, and I’ll string you up just like I’m gonna do to that bitch.” His shoulder and what was left of his arm throbbed a dull ache in this cold. A strained, controlled breath hissed through his teeth as he rubbed at it. “Maybe I’ll gut the both of you, rob you blind, and move somewhere warm.”

Nnoitra cackled, head thrown back. “Atta boy.” He threw the door wide and stepped out into the rain. 

“So you met my placeholder?”

“Placeholder, hah! Sure did, maybe twenty minutes ago. Wasn’t that impressed.”

Grimmjow pulled his coat tight again, shifting to half face the tall man, shoulders hunched in the drizzle. “You tell him I’m comin’ for him?”

“Nah, figured I’d leave it a surprise. Hope I’m there to see it.”

A grin finally spread across Grimmjow’s face. “What a pal. Keep your eye peeled, it wont be long.” He said, eyes bright in the gloom of an overcast winter day. It didn’t last. Something behind Nnoitra glinted, wet and shining, that froze him in his tracks. A window, but instead of mounted high in the wall of the warehouse like it should have been, it was laid on the ground, leaned at an angle against the wall. He yanked his attention off it, laughing at the joke about his debt that he only half heard. “Yeah, lucky you.” He replied, trying not to let his sudden startlement show in his voice. He’d have to come back after dark and put that window back, except he already knew that with only one arm he’d never be able to get it in place and steady. So instead, maybe he’d carry it inside and break it so it looked like the glass had been shattered from the outside. The frame would be a lot lighter and easier to manage then. It’d look like some punk had broken in after dark. Good enough. Better than them realizing they’d had unwanted company during business.

He turned from the warehouse, muttering an excuse about wanting to get home and out of the rain to cut the conversation short and shoo the loan shark back to his car. In his head, he vowed to rub it in Kurosaki’s face that he was already covering his tracks for him.


	3. Chapter 3

He’d been young back then; a kid looking to make a name for himself and prove his worth. In this city, it was easy to fall to the wrong side of the street. It wasn’t an easy place to live, cutthroat, run by crooks with legal titles and too much money, but he’d never entertained the idea of getting out. That’s just how it was and he hadn’t been raised to want something different, something better. He’d wanted to work his way to the top, so that he could look down at everyone else. And he’d been on his way up, too. The reputation he was building for himself had won him an audience with a filthy rich politician who was also on the way up. Hired muscle, he was told, doing a few odd jobs, a few dirty jobs, and a few things in between, as needed. A contract had been drawn up and it wasn’t long until he’d been given a title of his own; Sexta. 

Grimmjow found himself wandering the streets late at night, only realizing how vigorously he was scratching at the scar of his arm, hand shoved into his coat, when a flash of fire lit his nerves and sent sparks behind his eyes. He hissed a strained sound, freezing mid-step while it subsided, and pulled his hand from inside his coat. When the sharpness of it had passed, he continued walking, the fine mist of near constant winter rain weighing his hair down and dripping in lazy rivulets down his features. He wiped at it, trying to clear his thoughts as much as the moisture, and looked up at a street sign as he started crossing the intersection. 

His steps slowed, then stopped altogether in the middle of the crosswalk. This late at night, traffic was mostly nonexistent. The late hour wasn’t safe for most people, for normal people, giving him the surrounding area of quiet and solitude as he realized where his wondering mind had led his wandering feet to take him. A cross breeze blew through the side street, chilling the already cool rain on his skin. It smelled like the dockside; salt, vaguely fishy, not unpleasant but not great either. The forecast kept calling for snow this year, but it had held off thus far and he was grateful for that. The cold was bad enough. Dirty, black, half melted snow coating the even dirtier streets would have been worse. He’d done enough struggling this passed year without that bad weather.

He wanted out. 

The thought, simple as it was, hit him like a speeding car, blaring car horn and all. He wanted out; out of the city, out of his contract. Too much had been sacrificed already. It wasn’t like he could just hand in his resignation, walk away, though. Running was out of the question, too. They’d hunt him down and he knew, intimately and personally, how good they were at that. He’d participated in it enough times; no one ever got away, nowhere was far enough, fast enough to get away.

Stuffing his hand in his pocket, he hunched his shoulders against the dampness of the air and continued across the street, heading in the same direction he’d been wandering, but this time with purpose.

••••••

Ichigo jolted in his chair as the top stair creaked, head spinning to look in that direction. “Shiro, were we expecting company?” 

“No.” Standing close by, Shiro straightened, moving toward the bottom of the stairs. A frown marred the android’s features, but it didn’t go into immediate threat mode. “Witness.” It said a short moment later, just as Grimmjow stepped into view. 

Blue eyes narrowed on the thing from where he paused on the last step, “Robot.” He greeted back cautiously.

Exasperated and confused, Ichigo half shouted, “No, it’s not calling you- What are you doing here?! Getting dragged here and sent on your way twice wasn’t enough, you wanted–”

“I want in.” Grimmjow said without preamble, eyeing the android for a second before he sidled passed it and further into the basement. His attention turned towards Ichigo, solid and determined.

“Shiro, over here please.” Ichigo commanded, almost absently, as he watched the big man move closer to him. He threw a hand up, indicating the space around them, “Well, here you are. I don’t know why, but you’re in my home. What do you want?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Grimmjow all but growled, eyes flickering to the side to track as the android passed by him to stand behind its creator. He motioned between it and the living man seated before him. “You know exactly what I mean; I want in on this thing you have going. Aizen and his guys, the killer robot; I want in.”

“I don’t know what you think you know, but-“

“Fuck off. How long until this thing’s figured out?” He threw a hand out, gesturing towards Shiro. “It’s already left one witness. What happens when it leaves a second? Maybe the next wont be so willing to keep quiet.” 

“It left a witness because I made it let you live. I did an emergency override of protocol to keep you alive. It’s something I’m considering rectifying.” Ichigo shook his head, “I’m sorry, but-“

“That still doesn’t change that someone one of these days is going to figure out something is after them. How long do you really think it’ll take before they realize they’re being hunted down? A few here and there is realistic enough, probably expected even, but that thing-“ and he pointed at Shiro again, “Is wracking up a body count that wont go unnoticed. Not to mention its physical appearance. It couldn’t even walk through a crowded street without drawing attention, let alone get close to Aizen and his men.”

“You think you’d look any more inconspicuous attending Aizen’s gatherings?”

Grimmjow’s jaw bunched as he ground his teeth, his single hand clenched into a fist at his side. The quiet stretched for a moment, just long enough to be out of place given the heated nature of Grimmjow’s attitude up until this point. He muttered a curse under his breath, attention straying towards the android for a brief second, but he straightened resolutely, “Yeah. I could. I could get you all the information you needed.”

“What are you talking about?” Ichigo started to wipe a hand down his features, like all this was too much effort, before his hand dropped sharply to the arm of his chair and his eyes widened. “You––“ The panic was easy to read in his voice, the single word croaked out like he’d suddenly forgot how to breathe as he stared up at Grimmjow like he was truly seeing him for the first time.

Grimmjow nodded, easing his hand up into view, “I work for him-“

“Shiro!” Ichigo jerked back in his chair, “Terminate–“

“Wait! Wait, wait,” Grimmjow backed a few fast steps away, hand still held up in a placating gesture, features twisted into a defensive sneer. His heels hit the baseboard of the staircase. “Wait, I can help! I want that bastard dead as much as you, or I wouldn’t be here. I would have told him. I could have cleared my debt with information like that, but I didn’t.”

Ichigo’s hand was up, arm outstretched across the android’s thighs, halting Shiro where it’d started to storm around him to fulfill the command. Shiro could have lunged from where it stood, could have barreled right through Ichigo’s arm and had Grimmjow’s throat in its hands before Grimmjow had time to react, but it didn’t. It stood, ready, tense, held back by nothing other than Ichigo’s will. And, if anything, it looked frustrated and unhappy about it.

“I want in.” Grimmjow said again, nearly desperate, but with grave force in his voice.

Ichigo took a constricted breath, but what he was being told made sense. He knew Ichigo was alive, he knew where Ichigo lived; Grimmjow could have gone to his employer with what he knew at any time, but he hadn’t. If he had, Ichigo’s home would have been overrun by now. When he spoke, his voice was tight and low, “And what do you get out of this? Revenge? Is revenge enough to keep you from selling me out?”

“Isn’t that what you’re getting out of it?” Grimmjow quipped back, jaw clenched tight.

“No, it’s different. It’s-“ But Ichigo stopped, a scowl on his features and a ragged breath puffing through his lips. “Yes. It’s revenge. But it’s more than that, too. It’s about making sure he never does this to anyone else, he never hurts anyone else.”

Sudden fury lit Grimmjow’s spine, “Like this?!” He asked in a snarl, yanking his unzipped coat aside. The empty sleeve fell away and he let it slump before shrugging out of the other sleeve. “You think revenge isn’t good enough? You think I haven’t been hurt enough by him to want him dead?!” He grabbed the loose neck of the tank top he wore, struggling to yank it over his head. When it dropped to the floor between them, he glared Ichigo down. “What about this?” He asked, anger making his tone a brittle growl.

Silent, Ichigo stared. What he’d seen the first time had only been the tip of the iceberg. Scars seamed nearly the entirety of Grimmjow’s exposed torso from where grievous damage had been done. A wide, angry mark crossed from one hip to the opposite shoulder. Another jagged mark looked like it had been dangerously close to circling his throat. No doubt it had been life threatening. The wounds were healed, but the scars left behind were ragged and bold still.

“Just because I can walk doesn’t mean I can’t hate him. It just means I haven’t lost my use yet, but he took my arm, Kurosaki. He took my arm, because he’s almost done with me. It’s either him or me, ‘cause if he lives, I don’t have much time.” The chest below that scaring was heavily muscled, heaving with the outrage Grimmjow felt. His voice had dropped to a too steady growl. “What more do you need before you’ll believe me?”

Slowly, Ichigo’s outstretched arm fell away from where he held Shiro back, “Stand down.” He all but whispered, distracted. “I didn’t know, I-“ He blew out a deep, quiet sigh, then nodded slowly, “Fine. Ok. You’re in. Don’t make me regret this.”

Grimmjow stood rooted for a long moment, narrowed gaze studying Ichigo like he thought maybe this was a sick prank. When he was evidently satisfied, he shook his head slightly and bent to retrieve his discarded shirt. He didn’t bother with reassurances, and instead began the awkward process of pulling his tank top over his head. He wore it, despite the winter temperatures, because it was the easiest thing he owned to get on with only one hand while he retaught himself simple tasks like getting dressed. Picking up the coat, he hung it on the banister of the staircase, not eager to put the damp thing back on. “What’re you workin’ on?” He asked as he turned back to Ichigo, nodding toward the table where whatever project was being worked on was laid out in a collection of metal parts, wires and nuts and bolts.

Ichigo sighed, “Go home, Grimmjow. It’s late.”

“Doesn’t look like I woke you, so if you’re trying to make me feel bad, you’ll have to try harder.”

“Why do I need to make you feel bad in order to get you out of my house? Which you broke into, by the way.”

Grimmjow shrugged, “You don’t, but I don’t particularly feel like trekking back across the city in the rain, and you’re awake and working, so I don’t see why you’re in such a hurry to kick me out.” He neared the table, bending a little lower to peer at some of the various parts laid out. He ran a finger along the curve of a band of metal. “Not another robot, I don’t think.” He mused, then moved passed and pulled the only chair out from where it was pushed in against a desk, rolling it across to the far end of the work bench and Ichigo’s project. He sat himself down and stuffed his hand in the pocket of his jeans. “I can stay out of the way.”

Ichigo watched him with a dry look, then sighed heavily and dropped his hands to the wheels of his chair to bring himself back to his lowered work bench. “Did you break my door or one of my windows?”

“Neither, I didn’t break anything. I’m just good like that, even with only one hand to work with.” The grin on his features was disgustingly smug.

A moment went by where Ichigo struggled not to realize what an attractive guy Grimmjow was, then he rolled his eyes. “Well that’s something, at least. Shiro, go make sure the alarm is set, please.” 

The android gave their guest a critical look. “Endanger him, and I will kill you this time.” It warned, then headed up the stairs, its steps deceivingly light.

Grimmjow stared after it and grunted, “More eloquent than I remember…”

“Told you it was learning. We’re still working up to being conversational, but it’s getting there.” Ichigo arched his spine and rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the kinks and stiffness. The cold winters were especially tough on him, not just because of how they limited how much he could get around, but because old injuries and the damage done to his spine ached and creaked. Being stuck in a seated postion didn’t make it easy to stretch and work out some of that discomfort, but using his brace and putting the extra strain on his body left him more sore. After a few minutes of shifting, he pushed out a mostly silent breath and decided he was about as comfortable as he was going to get, and only then realized he was being watched. He scowled. “What?”

“Nothing.” Grimmjow shrugged. “You ever going to answer my question?”

“What question was that?”  
“What are you working on?”

“Ah. That one.” Ichigo motioned vaguely to the table, “Hoping to come up with a better version of my brace. I’ve been modifying the plans from the first prototype in my spare time. I need something that gives me more mobility for a longer period of time, preferably with less cost. I’m not sure how feasible that is, though. I might just have to suffer the cost of using my body in ways it’s no longer capable of functioning.” He scrubbed a hand across his features, then braced himself against the arms of his chair and pushed himself more upright to try resettling back again.

Shiro stepped back into view, cold, gold eyes finding Grimmjow, before moving to its creator. Satisfied, it started for its cradle, but Grimmjow waved to it. 

“Hey, robot.” The man said, then held his hand out towards Ichigo, “Does he have painkillers or something? Medication, you know? He’s making me uncomfortable just sitting here watching him be in pain.”

“I’m fine,” Ichigo informed him with a scoff, but was ignored.

Shiro’s pale features twisted in disapproval, “I don’t take directions from you.” But it moved and knelt by Ichigo’s chair, slim fingers turning the man’s chin so that he faced the android more directly.

“I’m fine, Shiro-“ Ichigo tried to brush the hand away, but the android persisted. “Shiro-“

“Hold still.” The android’s distorted voice demanded, and Ichigo sighed yet again, before relenting and waiting. It didn’t take more than a few seconds. “Analysis complete. The witness appears to be correct.” Shiro stood and crossed the room.

Grimmjow, brows raised slightly, gave it another once over before asking, “It can do that? Just by looking at you?”

“It reads vitals.” Ichigo told him. “It needs to be able to recognize at least basic human functions in order to complete its missions, so I programmed it with the software needed for that. It’s capable of reading heart rate, blood pressure, how fast or slow someone’s breathing, pupil dilation, that sort of thing. And it’s learning to use its ability to distinguish these signs and form an educated guess as to the cause of abnormalities it finds.” A slight smile creased Ichigo’s lips, “It never crossed my mind that I’d end up playing guinea pig to my own creation.”

Shiro returned with an orange prescription bottle that Ichigo accepted, shaking a few pills out into his hand with a quiet, “Thank you, Shiro.”

“…creepy.” Grimmjow decided.

Ichigo shrugged, throwing the pills back and reaching for a half full bottle of water. “Not really. It’s just science. And it’s not all that surprising, really. Shiro’s designed to be intelligent enough to figure out how to react appropriately to situations I can’t tell it how to respond to. It’s only natural that these characteristics would carry over in other situations as well.”

“So…” Grimmjow mused, leaning back in the desk chair, he used a finger to point towards Ichigo’s chair. “That brace you were using the other day is the prototype, right? Does that mean Shiro’s a prototype, or…?”

“Oh, no.” Ichigo laughed a short breath of amusement, setting the water bottle back down. “My other projects take a backseat to Shiro. It’s very advanced. What version are you, Shiro?”

“Fifteenth.” The android answered, then gave Grimmjow another withering look. “You took my chair.”

Grimmjow grunted, using his feet to pivot the office chair from left to right a few inches. “Yeah? Looks like you’re still learning manners. I can tell you two don’t have house guests often, but I’ll forgive you for not knowing, since your-“ He gestured at Ichigo, “-person is a shut-in. You’re supposed to offer guests a seat, robot, it’s called being polite.”

Ichigo smiled at the banter. The exposure to someone other than himself would be good for Shiro, he decided. “Are you feeling tired, Shiro?”

“No.” The android said casually, “I just don’t like him.”

“Oh, wooow…” Grimmjow drawled, “I just got insulted by a fuckin’ tin can.”

Ichigo sighed, “Don’t say that word, I don’t want it learning to talk like that.” Grimmjow gave him a look, but he was otherwise ignored.

Shiro scoffed, curling its lip. “There’s no tin in my composite. I could list the materials for you, but I’m guessin’ you wouldn’t know half of ‘em.”

“Ok, that’s enough.” Ichigo interrupted, rethinking his previous thought. Maybe this wouldn’t be so great for Shiro after all. “Anyway.”

“Yeah, anyway.” Grimmjow agreed, if only because the android might have been right and he didn’t want to find out. “So where’re the fourteen other robots?”

“Here and there.” Ichigo answered, “Most of the parts- salvageable parts, anyway- have been recycled into other projects. Some went into Shiro, some are still piled in storage until they’re needed for something else.” As he spoke, he used the edge of the table to pull himself closer to begin working again. 

Just like that first time Grimmjow had sat in the basement with him, Ichigo easily lost himself in his work. There was less pressure on Grimmjow this time, though, and no real need to keep a steady conversation going, leaving Grimmjow free to watch him work and get a feel for his very secretive new associate. Ichigo’s concentration and drive was something to be admired. He was very much the type to fight through whatever troubles he came across and dive headfirst into his difficulties once he put his mind to something. All very well, but Grimmjow didn’t know the first thing about what Ichigo was doing, and what he was working on wasn’t nearly as awe-inspiring, or complete and impressive, as the android was. It wasn’t long before Grimmjow found himself bored and weary, but at least the basement was dry and warm and, maybe more importantly, secluded away from his coworkers.

Used to toiling away into the early hours of the morning, Ichigo didn’t notice as the pauses in conversation went from seconds to minutes, from minutes to hours. It wasn’t until his vision was grainy with fatigue and he’d nearly soldered a metal fastener to the stainless steel table that he realized how late it was getting.

Grimmjow had been quiet for some time by then, he thought, but keeping track of time while he concentrated wasn’t a strong suit of his.

Glancing over, he took in the way Grimmjow lounged in his work space, slouched in the only office chair in the entire house, with his legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles, and his chin low. A few strands of unruly hair hung in his face, dry now that he’d been out of the rain for a while. His eyes were shadowed, but Ichigo was fairly certain they were closed. The man looked exhausted, his features sunken and sallow now that he was relaxed enough not to put up a front.

“You think he’s asleep, Shiro?” He asked, stretching his arms over his head before crossing them. He needed a break too, if he were being honest, and sleep was a rather inviting idea. He glanced behind him to one of his monitors, squinting to see the small clock more clearly from across the room, to check what ungodly hour of the morning it was.

Grimmjow didn’t respond, didn’t even move, and Ichigo smiled a touch. That was answer enough, really.

But Shiro cocked its head and looked over, “Looks that way.” It said in its odd, distorted voice, stirring like it had gone dormant and had been disturbed by Ichigo’s too obvious question.

Ichigo nodded, then pointed across the room at a rack that hung on the wall not far behind where Grimmjow sat, “Grab that wrench for me.”

The android shifted, then turned, silent as it crossed the room, and started reaching for a wrench it was most familiar with, since it was the one used most often when fixing its shell. 

“No, not that one. Good guess, though.” Ichigo motioned towards the right, “The big one, the one we almost never use.”

“This?” Shiro pulled the heavy, two foot long tool from the wall like it weighed nothing, arching a brow over at its creator.

“Yeah, that one. No, don’t bring it over.” He waved Shiro back another step, “Move a step to your left, there, perfect.” The android looked confused, a frown marring pale features, as it waited for more instruction. To it’s left another pace was the occupied office chair, in the corner where Grimmjow had assumed he’d be out of the way. “Great. Drop it.” Ichigo smiled when even more confusion settled across its features while it tried to puzzle out the reasoning behind this. “It’s fine. Drop it, please.”

Thoroughly at a loss, Shiro opened its hands and let the wrench fall to the stained concrete at its feet. The tool clanged loudly, the sound sharp in the close space, and bounced once during the echo. 

Not but a few steps away, Grimmjow jerked in his chair so hard it nearly rolled out from under him and he barely made it to his feet, a wild, lost look on his face. “Fuck-! What-“ He caught sight of the android staring back at him, then the wrench, then his eyes coasted to where Ichigo was losing a battle with laughter. Blue eyes narrowed, “Fuck you, Kurosaki.”

“Hey! What did I say about talking like that?”

Grimmjow flipped him off, “Your precious virgin baby robot is going to learn it one way or another, might as well be from me.”

“That’s for me to decide, not you. Besides, it was an accident,” Ichigo’s attention turned back to Shiro, his mirth obvious. “Right, Shiro?”

“My creation? Of course not,” Shiro nodded towards Grimmjow, bending to pick up the wrench it had dropped, “His probably was, though.”

“Ouch.” Grimmjow dropped his hand to his chest like he was taken aback and offended.

“Where did you learn that?!” The android didn’t answer, turning away from him while it put the wrench back, apparently picking up on what the point had been. “We don’t say things like that, Shiro, it’s incredibly rude…”

“I’m aware.” Shiro turned a wide grin in their direction and Grimmjow burst out laughing. 

Ichigo scowled at them both.

“Looks like your robot’s not so innocent after all,” Grimmjow said, still grinning and amused, “He’s been hanging out in bad neighborhoods while you send him out to work.”

“Tell your people to hang out in more respectable areas, then.”

“I’m sure they’d listen.” Grimmjow said sarcastically, glancing back to find that chair and pull it to him again. He sat down, arching his back with a low groan. His amused expression fell. “You could have just said something.”

“You were pretty out of it,” Ichigo told him, shrugging.

“So you decided to scare the shit out of me?” The expression Grimmjow turned on the smaller was sharp, but his face was drawn, tired. “I don’t appreciate that.”

A bit of regret bubbled in Ichigo’s stomach and he winced slightly, conceding with a barely there nod. Quieter, he asked, “What do you do with your nights? You look like you hardly sleep. Aizen keeps you busy?”

Grimmjow scoffed, “Not these days.” The big man rolled his shoulders like he was trying to work an ache out of them, wincing at the discomfort the motion spread through his left shoulder where damaged muscle, tendon, ligament and bone were still on the mend. “I don’t sleep well anymore, so mostly I walk the streets.”

“Don’t you…?” Ichigo hesitated, “You do have a place to go at night though, don’t you?”

“Like am I homeless? No, I have an apartment downtown. A pretty nice place, I was makin’ good money, you know.” It was Grimmjow’s turn to hesitate, a look of distaste creeping into his expression. He stood again, suddenly restless, and slowly paced towards the far wall. “Aizen knows the address. It’s-“ He shook his head, eyes cornering to see Ichigo watching him. The stump of his missing arm itched furiously and he rubbed at it, trying to ignore it. “You got gunned down, but they made it public, right? You didn’t get dragged out of your bed in the middle of the night by people you knew and worked with. They cut my arm off with a fuckin’ sword in the middle of my kitchen, telling me how considerate they were being because the blood would be easier to clean off the tile than the carpet. There were a lot of things being said, shouted- Fuck, I was begging. But that’s-” Grimmjow shook his head slowly, “That’s what I remember best. Blood comes off tile easier than out of carpet. They even called someone to clean up while I was in the hospital. I got back and it was spotless, not a single stain, looked like nothing had happened, but it doesn’t feel like my place anymore.”

He hadn’t slept in his own bed since. When wandering the city at night got to be too exhausting, he’d make it as far as the sitting room, drop onto the couch, and usually ended up passing out while trying to stay awake.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Ichigo couldn’t figure out how to respond. He had his own horror stories and nightmares, but he’d had more time, and he’d never called those who hurt him and his family friends. That was a betrayal he couldn’t imagine. “I- Uh,” His voice caught slightly and he swallowed again, “I don’t have an extra bed or anything, but I have a couch that doesn’t get used much, if you want…”

“You askin’ me to stay the night?” Grimmjow looked over, the smile on his features amused and maybe a little too relieved to have a topic change.

“No,” Ichigo snapped but it was heatless. He started wheeling himself towards the lift near the staircase, Shiro trailing behind him. “I’m making an offer, not a request. You’re free to turn it down, but you look like shit and you were falling asleep in my basement.”

Grimmjow scoffed, “Don’t get your panties in a twist.” He followed at Ichigo’s side, stepping onto the small platform and backing himself into a corner of it. His eyes focused on where Shiro was taking up position to work the hand crank, but most of his attention wasn’t really there. “You got an extra blanket?”

Beside him, Ichigo smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

The android was left posted by Ichigo’s door throughout the night, Ichigo’s paranoid streak forcing the need to have some sort of guardian lest Grimmjow end up being a threat after all. It turned out to be entirely unnecessary, and no doubt an uneventful night for Shiro.

The next morning, with the sun already high in a sky smudged with clouds, Ichigo maneuvered himself from his bed and into his chair, and wheeled down the hallway. Shiro’s nearly silent footfalls followed behind him. They found Grimmjow passed out on the couch, dead to the world like he hadn’t slept so deeply in months. On his back, he had his head turned toward the back of the couch and his arm thrown over his eyes as if to shield them from the feeble sun spilling in through the tall windows. He’d taken his shirt off at some point, and his bare chest rose and fell in deep, even breaths. The blanket had been pushed down far enough that Ichigo could see the top of unbuttoned jeans and the waistband of boxers. The shirt had been dropped on top of his shoes, where they’d been pulled off and placed surprisingly neatly on the floor next to the couch, along with the few other things Grimmjow carried with him.

“I suppose we should let him sleep.” Ichigo decided quietly, turning his gaze away. He headed into the kitchen, where the coffee pot, which was on a timer, gurgled quietly. The counters and most everything else in the kitchen had been graciously modified by his call-in handyman to sit lower than was usual, making it accessible to him. He’d told the only two people that ever came into his home that it was to help him keep his independence, and in part that was true, but his independence was vital to his survival and what enabled him to keep himself and his work a secret from those that would want him gone. 

He opened the dishwasher, pulling out a clean coffee mug, then he hesitated for a brief pause before he pulled out a second one, settling them in his lap to free up his hands. “Shiro,” He said as he crossed the rest of the kitchen to where the coffee pot sat. “Would you go dig through my closet and find the largest pair of pants and t-shirt I own? You can set them over by his shoes. And pull out an extra towel, too.” He set one mug on the counter by the coffee pot and left it empty. The other he filled for himself, taking a sip. 

They left a note on top of the pile of clean clothes, letting Grimmjow know where the bathroom was and that there was coffee waiting for him, if he was interested, and that Ichigo would be down in his workshop. The option to spend the morning there was his. He knew where the door was, obviously, so there was nothing Ichigo could do to make him stay if the man didn’t want to. Either was fine.

Shiro carried Ichigo’s coffee for him as they quietly crossed the house to the lift, passing it over as it took over the hand crank and lowered them into the basement. Halfway down, the overhead lights flipped on automatically, flooding the space in bright but not harsh light. All his computers came to life at the same time, a waiting screen that required a password flickering to life on the largest monitor. Further into the space, the cradle came to life as well, humming a low, electronic sound as its display turned on. 

Taking a sip of his coffee, Ichigo pointed towards his workbench and Shiro grabbed the back of his chair, guiding him forward. “Thank you.” He said, setting the mug on the metal surface he was brought to. “Bring me the laptop, please, then you can rest for a while.”

“I’m not tired.” Shiro informed him, grabbing the laptop from near its cradle to bring back. 

“Nonetheless.” He grabbed the device being handed over, opening it in his lap to log in. The larger monitor behind him brightened further as the display changed from the login screen to home screen. “I haven’t decided when your next mission will be. I’d rather just keep you charged and ready.”

Shiro grunted and rolled its eyes, but approached the cradle anyway. “No updates needed.” It said as it backed into place and the cradle connected. “I’ll be on standby.”

Ichigo shook his head slightly, but smiled. He could have commanded the android into sleep mode so that it could charge faster, but he respected Shiro’s choice, taking another sip of his coffee as he sat the laptop aside.

Grimmjow woke up some time later, rolling onto his side lazily as he opened his eyes. The surface below him wasn’t quite right. It didn’t have the right spring, or size, or texture. A moment of fiery panic flared through his mind when he realized he wasn’t in his own home and he started to jerk upright, before the previous night came back to him and he paused to look around with a shaky breath. He rubbed the sleep and lingering unease from his features, catching the smell of coffee. The house seemed quiet, peaceful, and he started to reach for his shoes with the intention of leaving, but his groping hand found cloth and paper instead.

He read the note with furrowed brows and a mild frown. It was an odd feeling; he shouldn’t have been as welcomed as it seemed he was, and he shouldn’t have felt as comfortable as he did. Blue eyes glanced down at the pile of folded, clean clothes, then traveled towards the stairwell, and finally found the hallway, where his gaze lingered for a moment. He debated for a long minute, and that hesitation ended up being his answer. He stood, grabbed the clothes, and padded barefoot down the hallway.

Down in the basement-turned-workshop, Ichigo arched his brows and put the soldering pen down. “Huh. Never realized the water pipes were so easy to hear from down here. We’ll have to see about installing more insulation, maybe.” It wasn’t going to be a very high priority, though. His work wasn’t usually too loud, though that wasn’t to say that things didn’t end up crashing around or occasionally sparking, popping, or creating small explosions. But all in all, his work was pretty quiet, and even if it could be heard through the first floor, there was never anyone up there to catch it.

Perched in the cradle, Shiro’s head tilted and a not exactly pleased expression crossed its pale features. “He decided to stay. Again.”

Ichigo smiled to himself, “I guess he did.”

It wasn’t long -or maybe it was and Ichigo had lost himself in his work again, which was just as likely- before the top step creaked to announce the arrival of his guest. Grimmjow descended the stairs with a cup of coffee in his hand. “I didn’t realize you were so small.” He said casually as his sock-clad feet found the cement floor.

Glancing over, Ichigo took in the cut of his clothes on the man. The shirt fit a bit snug and was just a little on the short side. It covered well enough, but when Grimmjow stepped up to the work table to set the coffee cup down and lifted his hand to push wet hair out of his face, the hem of the shirt rode high enough to flash toned midriff. And the pants were a little bit on the small side, too, stretched tight across the man’s thighs and slung low around his hips to insure they were long enough for everything else, but they must not have been too bad, since he’d put them on instead of the pair he’d worn the night before. 

Ichigo scoffed, “I’m not small, you’re just big.” A wide, toothy grin flashed across Grimmjow’s handsome features and Ichigo’s scowling face went red as he turned away. “You know what I meant.” He snapped in a huff. 

“So it’s like that, is it?” Grimmjow asked, the grin obvious in his voice. He ran his hand through his hair a few more times, trying to keep at least most of it out of his face, before he gave up and reached for the coffee cup again. 

“Like what?” Ichigo asked, still turned away, though his attention cornered to see as the man took his coffee back, noting how scarred up the tanned skin of knuckles and bared forearm was. He adamantly refused to acknowledge that he knew exactly what Grimmjow was talking about.

“Known you not even two days and you’re already thinkin’ about me like that.” Grimmjow sipped his coffee, eyeing the set of his host’s shoulders for any sign of being riled, before he wandered off toward’s the android and its odd, upright bed. He stayed out of arm’s reach of it, though, as he looked up into Shiro’s face. It was odd, he decided, when a single, pale brow arched as if to ask him what he wanted. But since no actual question was asked, he ignored it. “It’s no big deal; I’m pretty attractive.”

Ichigo rolled his eyes so hard he was prepared to end up with a headache from it. But he still pretended not to understand. “Thinking about you like what? Like a guy who must be suicidal for showing up at my door after I threatened to have him killed? A guy who obviously must think I’m an idiot -rightly so, apparently- for thinking I’d then let him stay on my couch afterward? Oh yeah. I’m thinking about you, all right.”

Grimmjow’s laugh was disgustingly easy to listen to, maybe even a little contagious and Ichigo had to scowl harder not to smile. “Last night,” Grimmjow continued, still studying the android and the cradle, “you asked if he was tired. Does he do that? Is this thing like plugging him in?”

Ichigo turned in his chair slightly, glancing over. He shrugged, “Yes and no. Shiro’s battery is as advanced as the rest of it, it lasts an incredibly long time. The cradle does charge the battery, but it also runs all of Shiro’s programming through a series of tests and checks.” He pulled his laptop closer and tapped in a few keys, before pointing to the largest screen in the room. “You can see it over there.” Line upon line of code scrolled through a window at a pace that was easy for Ichigo to read through, but would have been disorienting for someone with little understanding of it to focus on, like Grimmjow. “I have to do all physical repairs or modifications, but the cradle can identify most programming errors or breaks for me. When Shiro’s plugged in, it basically does a systems check and looks for what might need updated or what might be affecting performance negatively.”

“You built this thing, too?”

Ichigo nodded. “I built the cradle and wrote the program to make it do what it does.”

“So if you made a mistake while writing the program, it might make a mistake and not find problems with your android.” Grimmjow surmised, taking another sip of his coffee. The thing was an uncanny bastard, yet bore a startling resemblance to its creator. He had to wonder if that was on purpose, or if Ichigo didn’t even realize it. He didn’t seem the overly vain type.

“Possibly.” Ichigo conceded, “Early on in development of the androids, the cradle missed a lot more of the bugs and when something with an early model would go wrong, I’d be forced to dig through lines of code and find it myself, but as I refined my android prototypes, I also refined the cradle. It misses less than I would, if i had to sit there and try to look for breaks with my own two eyes. The human brain has autocorrect, the cradle doesn’t. And Shiro can help too, it understands its own code when it sees it. In theory, Shiro could walk you through how to fix an error, even if you had no idea what you were looking at.”

“In theory.” Shiro confirmed from where it rested in the cradle, head tilting a bit and a smirk slashing across its pallid features. “But the typing would be very slow.”

Paling slightly, Ichigo opened his mouth to admonish the android, but he was too stunned and a little mortified to come up with a quick response.

Grimmjow blinked, then glanced at his one hand, before he threw his head back in laughter. “Oh, you’re an asshole.” He decided between laughs, “If the opportunity ever comes up, I’m going to wreck that code worse instead of fix it.”

Shiro interrupted that amusement, with a widening grin, by stepping free of the cradle, its movement catching the big man off guard as if he’d thought the android locked into place, perhaps. It watched with great satisfaction as Grimmjow scrambled back a few steps, hand tight around the mug. “I would break you.” It said, then stopped to stand before him. “Hold still for measurements.”

“-what?” Grimmjow grunted.

“What?” Ichigo parroted, hands on the wheels of his chair, not that he could have possibly gotten between the two in time had he really needed to. Luckily, he’d been correct when he had assumed Shiro was bluffing. “Measurements…? I didn’t-“

“If he’s gonna help you kill Aizen, he’ll need a new arm at some point.”

“Wait a second, Shiro,” Ichigo shook his head, “You’re getting a little-“ but his gaze coasted over to see Grimmjow staring at him, blue eyes a little wide, the mug in his hand in danger of falling, “ahead…” He pushed a breath through his teeth and rubbed at his features briefly, then motioned for Shiro to continue, “Fine. Measurements-” But he held up a hand, “No promises, though, Grimmjow. I’ll see what I can come up with, but no promises. I’m not a doctor, I don’t really even know anything about prosthetics. I don’t even know what I’m doing with this,” He motioned at the table, where the next version of his brace was laid out in unidentifiable pieces, “It’s all trial and error. Everything I’m doing is self taught.”

••••••

Weeks later, at a swanky bar owned by one of Grimmjow’s superiors, they held a meeting with their boss. Technically counted out of the inner circle now that he’d been demoted with the loss of his arm, a loss that was deemed his fault and responsibility, and therefore his problem to fix if he wanted his spot back, Grimmjow stood in the background, scowling his disinterest and annoyance about the whole thing. He’d been a little surprised when they’d let him in, since he technically had no place there anymore, but he’d strode through the door like he owned the place and the bouncers hadn’t questioned it. Aizen had given him a long, unreadable look, but hadn’t said anything before he started the meeting.

The chair in front of him, his chair, was occupied by his new replacement, whom he’d yet to officially meet. When the filled position had been announced, he’d been furious, and he’d chocked his fury up to being pissed about being demoted, about having some punk take the place he’d carved for himself at that table. And maybe that was part of it. Maybe part of him really was angry at being looked down upon, god knew he was competitive enough for that. But now he knew, after thinking about it long and hard two nights prior, that most of his rage came from his sheer hatred of this entire organization and all it had taken from him.

Reflexively, he tried to cross his arms, realized his mistake, and settled for shoving his hand in the pocket of his jeans instead. The motion made him focus, if only for a split second, on his missing limb, and the damn thing started itching furiously. The knuckles of his missing fingers felt tight, like his missing fist was clenched and the fingers were going to crack. He ignored it, jaw tight, and did his damnedest not to shift and squirm uncomfortably. The scowl etched across his features only deepened, irritation rising. But he did an amiable job of holding his tongue until the meeting was done. 

When everything needing discussed was spoken about and business was set aside, the chair in front of him made an agonizingly slow swivel until he was finally face to face with his replacement. The man was half Grimmjow’s size, grinning smugly as he looked up from his seated position. 

“Obviously you’ve heard of me by now,” The man said, finally standing. He still had to look up, but his voice was haughty. “But we haven’t been formally introduced, I’m-“

“-in my spot.” Grimmjow cut in, unimpressed. “Don’t get comfortable.”

Across the table and still relaxed in his chair, a wide, ugly grin spread across Nnoitra’s face as he watched.

“Grimmjow.” Aizen was a cool, collected man. Nondescript by all accounts, he nonetheless held an imposing air about him. In the public eye, he was a levelheaded, intelligent man with the odd rumor here and there about his practices and the methods of his political gain. His largest opposer had, after all, been tragically and mysteriously murdered years ago. In private, he was ruthless and cold. Currently, he sat at the head of the table, his brows arched mildly in an expression that was somehow neutral and cold and maybe just a little mocking all in one. “I’m pleased to see you here, despite your recent demotion.”

“It’s a temporary demotion.” Grimmjow assured, ignoring the disapproval that flashed across plain features. “I plan to stay in the loop to make my return an easier transition.”

“Very well.” Aizen agreed with a very slight nod. “How do you plan to prove that you’re still capable of holding the Sexta position?”

“Hey! Wait a second-!” But no one was listening to the newcomer.

“As ruthlessly as I earned it.” He said, a wide grin flashing across his features, and with that he thrust forward. The knife barely had time to glint in the light before it found the soft flesh of his replacement’s stomach. There was a shifting of feet and a few hushed whispers of surprise, but no one moved to intervene. The smaller man gasped in shock, folding around the blade, one hand clamping down on Grimmjow’s arm while the other tried to reach for the knife. Grimmjow was stronger by far, even with only one arm. He thrust harder, put his weight into driving the knife deeper, then shoved. His replacement went sprawling across the floor, choking on blood, the knife buried to the hilt and still jutting from his stomach.

From his spot at the table, Nnoitra threw his head back and cackled. Aizen watched on.

It was true what they said; killing another person changed you. Committing murder did something to you, something irreversible. But Grimmjow had stopped counting after he hit his number -six- and eventually, he’d made peace with it. It no longer bothered him like it should have, it didn’t keep him up at night or haunt his dreams. Every once in a while he felt a twinge of guilt over it. Now wasn’t one of those times.

With blood pooling around the feebly struggling man, Grimmjow used a foot to kick him over onto his stomach, then bent and yanked the wallet from his back pocket. He dropped the leather wallet onto the table, fumbled with it briefly while he flipped it around, opened it, and tugged the cash out. He spread the paper bills across the table to count it out, since he only had one hand to do so with, before he piled it all back up and tossed it across to Nnoitra. “The next payment on my debt.” He explained, then dropped the wallet back to the floor and turned slightly to reface his boss.

Nnoitra pulled the messy stack of cash towards himself and began thumbing through it, that over-bearing grin still on his features. 

Aizen was a long few minutes in replying, in which Grimmjow half expected to have his execution ordered. There was no shortage of people around at the moment to take the task on. No one moved, though, waiting to see what Aizen would decide. On the floor, the new Sexta bled out alone, gurgling and gasping. 

Finally, a slight, sly smirk tugged one corner of Aizen’s mouth, “Welcome back, Grimmjow. I’m glad you could be reminded of why you’re worthy to be in my Espada before it was too late.” He rose from his seat, straightening his shirt casually. “Make sure someone cleans that up.” He said, indicating the dying man. “The team that cleaned up your apartment did good work, right Grimmjow?”

“Left it smelling minty fresh.” The big man informed through his teeth. 

Aizen nodded pleasantly. “Granz, get that team in here. I have a media event to be to tomorrow; Ulquiorra, you’ll be with me.” With that, he left the back room of the bar, trailed by the four highest members of his group.

“Good show, Sexta.” Nnoitra gleefully praised, standing to tower over the table. He tucked that wad of cash into his jacket as he rounded the furniture. “Knew you had it in ya.”

The dying man on the floor was still desperately clinging to life when the cleaners began rolling him in a tarp and dragging him from the building. One even pulled the knife free and wiped the messy blade on victim’s shirt before handing it back to Grimmjow.

“Poor bastard.” Grimmjow muttered, absently tucking the knife away, “Didn’t know what the fuck he was getting himself into.” And, oh, but that felt familiar and struck a cord. For half a second, an ounce of pity bubbled into his gut, but only for a moment. It was easily pushed aside. It felt good getting rid of one more of Aizen’s allies. He shook his head as he watched the loan shark round the table towards him. “Told you exactly what I was gonna do to him.”

“Yeah ya did.” Nnoitra laughed, slinging an arm around the shorter man’s shoulders. He leaned close with a wide grin. “Said you were gonna do the same to me, didn’t you?”

“How ‘bout you get that arm off me, huh?” Grimmjow answered with a dark grin of his own. His palm itched for the handle of the knife, the desire to stab it through this man’s throat almost unbearable. But Nnoitra was far from the pathetic thing he’d just killed and, one armed and without the element of surprise, he doubted his chances.

Nnoitra laughed again, but straightened and pulled away. “You wanna ride? I got business on your side of town.”

Scoffing, Grimmjow eyed the man skeptically, “Not a chance. You’re a stingy piece of shit who gives nothing away for free and I’ve seen enough of my money go to you already. I’ll pass.”

Yet again, the taller man cackled, but threw out his hands. “Can’t make a living if you do everything for charity. Suit yourself. Enjoy the rain.” Without a backward glance, he left the meeting room.

Grimmjow watched him go, hating the genuine mirth in the man, that cocky, untouchable attitude. He hated everything about him. He silently swore he’d still hold to his word; Nnoitra would get what he had coming and it was likely more than a knife to the gut. He shoved his hand in the pocket of his jacket as he headed for the door, fingering the recorder Ichigo had given him.

A couple hours later and a shower to scrub the blood from his hand saw him seated backwards on an office chair as Grimmjow tried not to fidget. He propped his elbow across the backrest and dropped his chin into his hand, tapping his fingers along his jaw. “I thought Shiro already took measurements.”

“It did, but without actually touching you, it can only give me basics and really close estimates. It gave me your height and probable weight, how long your arm is, how broad your shoulders are and the width of your chest, which was very helpful in drawing up plans but if I’m going to start working on prototypes, I need a cast so it’ll fit in place properly.” Ichigo sat back with a somewhat frustrated sigh, “And in order to get an accurate one, you need to stop moving.”

“Don’t see a cast of you sitting around.” Grimmjow muttered, trying not to shift when fingers pressed against his ribcage, under what was left of his amputated arm. 

“That’s because I’m here. If I had access to you whenever I was working, I wouldn’t need a cast.” Ichigo shook his head.

“You asking me to move in already?” An amused grin tugged across Grimmjow’s features and he moved, again, to look over his shoulder and see the heat creeping into Kurosaki’s face.

“No, I’m not asking that.” Ichigo snapped, “As often as you crash on my couch, though, I feel like I should make you a key.”

Grimmjow laughed, “I don’t need a key.”

“I’ve noticed.” The words were a drawl. When Grimmjow wasn’t busy working for his hated boss, he was increasingly at Ichigo’s house. It really drove home just how much Grimmjow disliked the space he no longer felt was his own. But Ichigo didn’t mind the company. He was so used to being on his own that, at first, it had felt strange, but the awkwardness of it drained with each passing hour they shared.

A few minutes of quiet went by while Ichigo worked and Grimmjow sat there, mostly still. Eventually, the bigger man spoke up again, “You ever think about leaving? Just…. packing what you want to bring with you and going, leave it all behind and start over?”

Under the guise of concentrating, Ichigo took a few minutes to reply. “Yeah.” He finally admitted, “I’ve thought about it a lot, actually. Almost every day.”

“Why don’t you?”

Ichigo shook his head. “Can’t move on, I guess. Why don’t you?”

Blue brows furrowed, but Grimmjow supposed it wasn’t difficult to guess the idea had occurred to him, at least often enough to make him bring it up. He shrugged, “Shit, sorry.” He heard the barely there huff behind him and half smirked. The expression fell pretty quickly, though. “I don’t know, I guess because… I’ve seen what Aizen does to guys who run.” A somewhat lost note entered his tone, like he wasn’t fully aware that he was speaking his memories aloud. “There was this girl once… beautiful, stubborn but sweet as hell. Too sweet for this work… She tried to leave. Aizen sent a nasty dude after her, then watched what he did to her.” He shook his head. “Gotta be real honest; I don’t think we’ll make it out of this. But I’d rather take that bastard and as many of his guys as possible down with me before he kills me, you know?”

Ichigo sat back in his chair, rubbing the space between his eyes. “I try not to think about how long I’ll make it, honestly. Most days, it doesn’t really matter to me. I’d like to see my, uh, my project through, but if it all comes to an end sooner rather than later… I don’t know. At least I wont have to worry about it anymore.” He ignored the piercing, blue eyes that turned in his direction. 

Grimmjow wasn’t sure what possessed him then, but there was something beautiful there, something a lot softer than the city around them, nestled down in all the hard and uncomfortable places. He turned in the chair and reached out with his one hand, leaning in. His lips found Ichigo’s before either of them could figure out what was happening, let alone react. The kiss was brief, his lips a little dry but warm. 

Stunned, Ichigo’s breath caught slightly as he froze. His android was out of the building, on a mission, and for a moment, as Grimmjow had rounded on him and leaned in, he’d thought the worst. The moment of panic, the split second to fear for his life; it made the tender moment all the more startling. “I-“ But he didn’t know what to say, watching as Grimmjow settled back in and retook his careless, bored position. “…ok. Uh-“ He shook his head slightly, “I think I’m going to have to come up with some sort of harness. For your arm, I mean. My brace is pretty heavy as it is, which is part of why it reaches so high up my abdomen, a whole arm would be– And you don’t have a lot to attach to, so– Are we- Are we going to talk about what you just did?”

“What’s there to talk about?” Grimmjow asked, but he swiveled the chair around to better face the other man. “I like you and I mean, If we’re both going to die, why not?”

An orange brow arched dryly, “What if I don’t like you?”

Grimmjow laughed, “Of course you do, you have me sitting shirtless in your basement.”

Ichigo rolled his eyes, “You’re insufferable.” Then reached to hook a hand against the back of Grimmjow’s neck and tug him further over the back of the chair, “And you better be able to kiss better than that.”

“Picky-“ Grimmjow started to say, amused, but was cut off in favor of a deeper, less chaste kiss. The hand against the back of his neck traveled up to curl fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and he twisted further so he could cup the side of Ichigo’s neck with his hand, thumb smoothing along the man’s jawline.

Distracted, they both failed to hear as Shiro returned and the android stopped at the bottom of the stairs, a furrow to its brow. It watched for a moment, before it spoke up, “What’re you doin’?”

“Fuck-!” Grimmjow jolted, spinning in his seat to turn a withering glare on the android. “Announce yourself next time, damn.”

“….fuck?” Shiro asked skeptically, eyes shifting from Grimmjow, to Ichigo, and back as it searched for answers.

“What? No! Shiro, that’s not what-“ Ichigo’s features went red and he waved his hands in a negative, “No, dammit, don’t say that, either of you. Shiro, that’s not what was happening.”

“Elevated vitals detected.” The android announced, “Are you in distress? I can grab your medication.” It made it clear that it was talking to Ichigo and only Ichigo, when it walked up to Ichigo’s side and proceeded to ignore Grimmjow’s existence. “Or I could kill him for you. It would be easy.”

“Hey! I’m sitting right here, robot-“

“No, Shiro, I’m fine. You just startled us.”

The android narrowed its eyes on its creator, then turned a suspicious glare on Grimmjow. 

Grimmjow had the grace to look taken aback by the harsh expression. Ichigo, on the other hand, had to struggle not to laugh about the whole thing and when Grimmjow caught sight of him, he too cracked a grin.

“So… a raincheck?” The bigger man asked, raising a brow. The grin on his handsome features was easy to look at.

“I think I’d like that.” Ichigo decided.

Grimmjow forced the grin from his features and turned to Shiro, trying for a stern tone. “You, robot, should stop sneaking up on people. You’re making a habit of ambushing me and it’s rude.”

The android arched a brow mildly and blinked at the man, the artificial features managing an excellent mimicry of wryness. “That’s… part of what I was created for.”

“I think that’s a no.” Ichigo informed helpfully, smirking when Grimmjow scoffed. “Now turn back around and hold still this time!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys enjoying this story so far? :)


	5. Chapter 5

The main screen in the workspace showed a rain streaked scene, the overcast, winter clouds painting everything in shades of grey. Rain pattered gently, just barely picked up by the speakers. The android’s steps were so smooth and silent that the feed barely showed the movement as Shiro focused on its target, creeping through a deserted, empty lot. The steel door in the building’s side didn’t look like much. Nor did the building; squat and short, only a single story and a loft on the east side of the city.

Shiro had been in place, observing, for a couple of hours now, motionless until it’d been ordered to breech the building. Despite the bleak, deceiving appearance, this was the place Grimmjow had told them about. Shiro, and Ichigo from his workshop, had watched half a dozen guys enter.

The feed shifted to the side as movement caught Shiro’s attention. A rain drenched stray paused, head low and hackles raised to snarl at the android. Shiro mimicked the sound and the dog flinched, before bolting across the street. 

“Remember, Shiro.” Ichigo said quietly, twisting a small screwdriver between his hands. “No collateral. There’s going to be a friend in that building.” 

The android grunted a dry, rye sound, “Friend is a strong word for it.” 

“Shiro.”

“Understood.” 

The door didn’t budge when Shiro tried it and the android paused, took a single step back to reassess the door, then drove its shoulder into the scratched, dented surface. The impact sounded hollow, the entire frame shuddering with the force. The door caved inward enough for Shiro to reach an arm in and lift the bar lock out of place. It clattered to the floor and the damaged door screeched its opening like an alarm. Shiro stepped over the threshold, following the commotion of shouts coming from somewhere inside.

The narrow corridor of the entrance opened up into a single, large studio. A few people stood back, watching, waiting for orders, while a few more rushed the intruder. They all had the look of people who’d been caught in the act of something they didn’t want company for. In the center, Grimmjow looked about as mean as one would expect of a man in his postion, glaring outrage at the android. He did well to hide his recognition. At his side, a colleague with a scowl on his face crossed his arms.

“Looks like he’s alone, boss.” One thug observed with a wry grin.

“Then what’re you waiting for?” Grimmjow asked, “Get rid of him. We have business.”

Shiro watched all of this as it waded further into the room, allowing itself to be surrounded. For the time being, the few men lingering at their respective higher up’s side looked unperturbed. As if thinking this was too easy, the thugs hesitated to approach, before one finally took it upon himself to carry out his orders. Shiro caught the movement before the gun could be leveled at it and sprang into action. The gun went off, but before the trigger was pulled, the wielder’s arm was snapped like a twig, the sound of it sharp in the silence just before the sound of the gun. The new angle sent the bullet straight into the chest of a second man, who dropped dead before his gun was even pulled. 

In the background, a gun was pushed into Grimmjow’s hand as he took a few steps back. Had any of his men been paying attention, they might have realized that his motion had less the quality of someone worried for his life and more like someone trying to avoid getting blood on his shoes. He watched impassively as the android cut through his guys. 

The man he was meeting with was less calm about it, watching with an air of shocked disbelief. He finally collected enough of his stunned wits to pull his own weapon and aim. The bullet ricocheted off the android’s metal chest plate and Shiro’s head snapped around to find the new offense. 

Grimmjow sneered, lifting the borrowed gun. He fired three rounds into the man’s side, under his raised arm and watched as he crumpled to the ground. One of the thugs saw, but before he could react to the unexpected traitor in their midst, the android wrapped fingers around his arm and yanked him around. Metal knuckles shattered the man’s jaw before Shiro’s fingers circled delicate cartilage. Panicked and in pain, the man dropped his weapon in favor of clawing at the metal hand and forearm in his reach. 

Dispassionately, Shiro crushed the airway below his grasp and left him to suffocate on his knees.

When the only human left standing was Grimmjow, the man turned and fired the rest of the clip from his gun into the wall behind him. Tossing the weapon aside, listening to it slide across the floor in the sudden and heavy silence, he tugged his phone from the pocket of his jeans and pulled up Aizen’s number. “I can’t believe I let you two talk me into this.” He told the android, and through Shiro, Ichigo. Lifting the phone and wiggling it in front of Shiro’s face, “Yeah?” he made sure the android saw it before he bent to set it on the ground, backing a few feet away from it. With a deep, fortifying breath, he turned and straightened all in one motion and grit his teeth has he threw his fist into the wall as hard as he could manage. His curse was loud as he pulled back, folding around no doubt broken knuckles. “Fuck! Son of a–“ He shook his hand, but hit the wall again, until skin was torn and blood leaked between his fingers. “Ok, robot.” Through clenched teeth, he straightened to his full height and gestured Shiro towards him, “Make it look good, asshole.”

Sitting in front of the screen in his basement, Ichigo cringed as he heard the third hit connect with enough force to rock Grimmjow back. He slammed into the wall behind him too solidly and was silent when he dropped to the ground in a heap. Ichigo couldn’t watch, face turned away, “Nothing permanent, Shiro, please.”

The android scoffed, but knelt before the unconscious man. “Vitals are strong. He’ll recover.” Shiro reported, then reached out to push the call button on Grimmjow’s dropped cellphone. As it dialed, Shiro straightened and walked from the silent, dead building. The power cut out a few minutes later, after it rounded the building to find the power box, bathing the scene Aizen and his reinforcements would walk into in confusing shadows.

No more than a handful of minutes later, Grimmjow blinked awake with a groan, disoriented. He tasted blood in his mouth and lifted his hand, smearing it across his features in an effort to wipe it clean. The torn skin of his knuckles stung and the sharpness woke him up a little more. Still, it took him a moment to realize there was a figure kneeling beside him and he jolted when a hand settled against his shoulder. “Fuck-! Nnoitra? Where’s–? Oh, fuck.”

“Easy, buddy.” The lanky loanshark motioned for quiet, “We’re not sure if they’re gone.” Nnoitra was hunkered low, leaning over him, but he kept looking up and over his shoulder. Footsteps shuffled uneasily in the dark. “You get a good look at ‘em?”

Grimmjow shook his head, pushing himself unsteadily into a less prone position. His hand was mostly numb, but his wrist throbbed with each beat of his heart. “Dark- The power was cut.” He leaned to the side to spit blood from his mouth. “What about the rest of-“ He pressed the heel of his palm against the pulse in his temple, making a mental note to get back at that damn android. He wasn’t sure how to do that, exactly, but hell if he wasn’t going to try. Fucker really did a number; he could feel blood still trickling from his nose and his jaw felt stiff and wired shut.

“Not lookin’ good. You and one other made it, but he’s got a crushed trachea and he’s been oxygen deprived for too long. Szazy say’s he wont be much use to us even if he does survive.”

In the dark, Grimmjow scowled, a little disbelieving that Shiro would slip up and leave someone else alive. It made it look more real, though, and maybe that was the point. Maybe it was carefully calculated. Oxygen deprivation and brain damage enough to keep the thug from talking, but alive enough to make it believable that Grimmjow could survive too.

Grimmjow braced his hand flat against the wall at his back and began trying to push himself upright, dizzy the moment he got his feet under him.

“Easy.” Nnoitra admonished, but hooked a hand under his arm to help tug him to his feet. “Szayel’s gotta-“

Grimmjow pushed him away with enough force to make it seem urgent. “Gotta talk to Aizen. Where is he?” He knew the android was nearby, hopefully within earshot and paying attention.

From the rafters, hidden in deep shadow above line of sight, Shiro watched and listened. Its artificial eyes allowed it to switch from normal to night vision, giving it an extra edge in the dark. Thus far, the plan seemed to be working. Aizen had responded to Grimmjow’s call; high enough on the food chain to matter, like Grimmjow had said he was. Motionless but for the shift of its eyes, Shiro watched another figure enter the building, picking their way through the mess that had been made. To its right, the stairs that led to the open air loft creaked and Shiro’s head turned slightly to watch a head and shoulders peek over the edge of the flooring at the entrance of the stairwell, a gun leveled and leading the way. 

On the first floor, nearly directly below where Shiro had positioned itself, Grimmjow pivoted uneasily and glanced in the direction of those creaking stairs. But he hissed an unhappy question, “What do you mean, he’s not here?! Do you not see what happened here? Someone was gunning for us, and they knew about this meeting.”

Back in his home and listening over the screen through Shiro, Ichigo cursed at the news. He should have known it wouldn’t be this easy. Aizen wasn’t a fool. Even if he didn’t suspect that he was being set up, there were a thousand reasons why he wouldn’t personally walk into a building that had just gotten shot up. Still. The evening wouldn’t be a total loss. There were plenty of Aizen’s hired men crawling around.

“Shiro.” The cue registered across the screen as a sharpening of the android’s attention and a slight tilt of its head. “Have fun.”

“Affirmative.” The android said quietly, a grin spreading across its white features. Gold eyes tracked back toward the man poking around the loft, but that one could wait. He would have to come down to get out. Instead, the android shifted where it was perched and, silent as a ghost, dropped from the rafters. Its weight alone drove the effeminate man -one of Aizen’s known top guys- to the ground with a sickening crunch and the snap of ribs.

A stunned grunt and pained gasp was all he managed before Shiro was straightening, a heel carelessly stomping down to further break bone. The android stepped over the fallen, writhing man.

The haze of being knocked unconscious cleared fast and Grimmjow felt ice slide down his spine upon seeing the creation Ichigo had built. He could have sworn, even in the dark, that it looked passed Nnoitra and straight at him for the briefest of moments. Same side or not, the attention was unwelcome.

“What the fuck is that?!” Nnoitra all but screamed, spinning to face the new and sudden threat. He had a gun out and moved to put himself between the enemy and his injured coworker. The first bullet skidded across metal. The second punched through, but the thing walking calmly towards them didn’t slow.

Behind him, Grimmjow made a face and cursed himself for not having a weapon on him. He cradled his broken hand and wrist close to his chest and sidestepped, edging along the wall to get out of the way. The commotion of Shiro’s arrival, combined with renewed gunfire had, predictably, drawn in the scattered men Aizen had sent to his aide.

Something bigger than a handgun was fired from somewhere behind Shiro and the android staggered, baring teeth, before it swung around in a burst of strong motion and surprising speed. A pale hand reached out and grabbed the barrel of the semi-automatic, fingers clenching to crush the smooth metal and yank it from stunned hands.

“Fuck this!” Nnoitra decided, he found Grimmjow, grabbed his arm, and started rushing around the outer perimeter of the room, attention fixed on the android. “We’re gettin’ the hell out of here while that thing’s busy.”

“Wait- Granz-“ Grimmjow didn’t really put much effort into trying to slow the loanshark’s flight, though. It was all for show, anyway, and Nnoitra was far more focused on the terror of his impeding death than on Grimmjow’s acting.

“-is broken in half and on his own.” The taller man cut off, “Dude’s a freak anyway. We can thank him for buyin’ us the time to get out alive at his funeral.” Nnoitra ducked through the doorway, still half leading, half dragging his coworker, as screams erupted from within.

Grimmjow listened with a cool detachment and maybe a hint of odd satisfaction, as Shiro decimated the crew sent to figure out what had befallen him and his meetup with Aizen’s future partner. He finally shrugged his arm out of Nnoitra’s grasp as they neared one of the cars that had been brought. He rounded the front to yank the passenger door open as the loanshark threw himself into the driver seat.

“We gotta talk to Aizen.” Nnoitra said as he turned the key in the ignition.

“No shit.” Grimmjow all but snarled back. “Get us out of here, the screaming stopped.”

Nnoitra flashed him a wide eyed look before throwing the car into gear and screeching tires.

Shiro stepped from the building in time to see the car pulling away. The smell of burning rubber and gun smoke hung in the air. It had no sense of taste, but it could feel cooling liquid drying to a thick, sticky mess across its features and licked it clear of white lips.

“He got away alright?” Ichigo asked, like a whisper in the android’s head.

Shiro nodded, “With the tall one. Same one we saw in the warehouse.”

Ichigo sighed. “Ok. Make sure everyone’s dead, then return for repairs.” There wasn’t much they could do at this point. Grimmjow would be on his own to sort out details and speak with his boss.

In the car, his single hand clenching and unclenching as he tried to work the sharp ache from his knuckles and wrist, Grimmjow looked over at the man driving. “That wasn’t emergency enough to get Aizen’s ass down here?”

Nnoitra’s laugh edged on hysteria. “You shittin’ me right now? Sexta, when was the last time you tried to get Aizen’s help? The moment your number came up, he scrambled a team together. He wasn’t stupid enough to come anywhere near something you were prepared to admit needin’ help with. Damn good thing, too. What the fuck was that thing?”

“I don’t know- A guy, I guess, jacked up on something-“

“Not a fuckin’ chance, Sexta, you’re missin’ an arm, not an eye. Even I could see that thing wasn’t a man.”

“Then what the hell do you think it was?” Grimmjow half snarled back, even as something uncomfortable stiffened his spine. 

“I don’t know– I don’t know! But it dropped from the goddamn ceiling like it was nothin’. Took a at least a couple a’ bullets, too.” Nnoitra’s spidery fingers tapped an almost nervous rhythm against the steering wheel. He was quiet for a few moments, features creased, before his single eye darted over to Grimmjow in the passenger seat. 

Grimmjow caught the look, his eyes narrowing. “What?” His fingers itched for a weapon, mind going into overdrive. If Nnoitra figured it out here and now, his only option was to wreck the car. He had no weapon, only one arm, and his one hand was broken. The odds weren’t good.

“Why’d it wait around?” The loanshark asked, eye on the road again as he sped through the streets. “There had to be at least twenty minutes between the time you called and when we got there. It was hiding, it coulda killed you and left. It was a set up. You were bait.”

“I don’t- You’re getting ahead of yourself, talkin’ crazy. You hear yourself? You don’t think it was human, now you think it’s setting traps? For what?” Grimmjow shook his hand out, before pulling it close to tuck against his stomach. He could still taste blood in his mouth, but he was pretty sure he had all his teeth at least. Leaning to the side, he let his head settle against the cold window, “Fuck.” He muttered, shoving his hand against it with a relieved sigh. “Drive faster, asshole.”

“What if it’s followin’ us?” 

Grimmjow turned a skeptical, annoyed look on the taller man. “It’s not fuckin’ following us.”

“How do you know?! If it’s after us, it might be after Aizen-“

“It’s not following us.” Grimmjow insisted, “Unlike you, I’m not half panicked. I’ve been paying attention to the cars around us. No one’s following us.”

“How the hell are you not panicking?! That was some kind of fucked up I can’t even describe!” Tires screeched as Nnoitra took a turn too fast, forcing another car to slam on their breaks.

“I don’t know, shock? How should I know? The resident creepy doctor’s dead. Fuck. I just got my seat back, I can’t afford to panic.” He braced his hand against the dashboard and immediately regretted it, snarling a litany of curses at the pain that shot through his wrist and arm. The phantom feeling of his missing hand clenching into a tight, nail-biting-into-palm fist was an unwelcome addition to his discomfort. “Get us there in one goddamn piece, for fuck’s sake.”

It was late by the time he got back to Ichigo’s side of the city. Hand wrapped and wrist splinted, he glared at the dressage, then up at the door, and realized he wouldn’t be letting himself in. A fleeting thought that he might wake the man up crossed his mind, before he pushed it aside; Ichigo worked through most nights, he was surely still up. The graver risk was that he’d be too deep into whatever project he was working on to hear. 

It was so automatic to try knocking with his uninjured hand, that it took him a split second to realize why he didn’t hear his knuckles against the door -he could sure as hell feel it- before his lip curled and he sneered. He used the toe of his boot instead, assuming Shiro was back by now and he wouldn’t have to be too loud.

To his surprise, it wasn’t the android to pull the door open a few seconds later. He blinked before looking down to see Ichigo instead. There was something like tight relief on his features as he dropped his hands and wheeled himself backward to allow Grimmjow entry.

“I was starting to worry.” Ichigo admitted, then dug between himself and the side of his chair and produced Grimmjow’s phone. “Shiro found this and rightly figured it shouldn’t leave it behind.” 

Grimmjow took the phone and gingerly stuffed it in a pocket, using his elbow to push the door shut behind himself. 

“How’s your hand?”

Grimmjow grunted, moving far enough into the house to drop heavily onto the couch he’d been sleeping on most nights for weeks now. “I’ve had worse.” He said, shrugging, “Nothing I wont recover from.” Something of a grin tugged across his features, “It was convincing enough, though. Aizen and everyone else was convinced I broke it on your robot’s face.”

“Aizen didn’t show up.” An unhappy expression twisted Ichigo’s features.

Grimmjow sighed. “Our bait was too strong.” When all he got was a confused look, he shrugged and elaborated. “He knows I hate him. He knows I wouldn’t ask for his help unless I was dying. When my number came up on his phone, he knew bad shit was going down and sent someone else. Shiro got one of the top ten with all that canon fodder, though. Szayelapporo Granz. Number eight. We have Aizen and eight more to go.”

“Nine.” Though, Grimmjow worked for the man. He should know. “Right? Aren’t there ten generals or whatever?”

Grimmjow hesitated, but nodded, “There were, yeah. But six didn’t last long. This scrawny, slimy little thing. The others didn’t like him and got rid of him.”

Locking the door, Ichigo wheeled himself closer to the couch, shaking his head. “Killing their own?” His tone made it obvious that he didn’t doubt it, but found it reprehensible, “Whatever. One less for us to deal with.” The distance, even angled slightly and twisted in his chair to face Grimmjow, was a little awkward, but when Ichigo reached for Grimmjow’s hand, the bigger man slouched forward and let him take it. Ichigo carefully ran his fingertips across bruised, cut knuckles and managed a short chuckle as he glanced up to see those too-blue eyes studying him. “Your hand is going to match your hair for a while, I think.” He winced a little, “Your face too…” 

“I hope you know you raised your robot to be an asshole. The fucker grinned at me while he was doing it.”

“Would it surprise you if I said I think it’s getting that from you?”

Scoffing, Grimmjow arched a brow, “You callin’ me an asshole?”

“I’m not not saying that.” A slight smirk tugged across Ichigo’s features, before his expression lit up like a kid in a candy store. “If you’re feeling up to it, I have something for you to try on.”

There was a long, drawn out minute while Grimmjow processed that. He was almost hesitant. “…so fast? It’s done already?”

“No,” Ichigo shook his head, releasing his light grip on Grimmjow’s hand, “No. No, sorry, I should have been more specific. I have a design for the rigging that I think will work. I want you to try it on, make sure it fits comfortably, and then I’m going to see how heavy I can make it before it’s not practical.” When he earned a skeptical, mildly confused look, he shrugged a bit sheepishly, “I’m going to make it as lightweight as I can, but having a weight limit will give me a place to start while building and designing it. Robotics aren’t very light, and I want it to be able to bear enough weight to be functional. You should feel how heavy my brace is one of these days,” He rapped his knuckles against the metal band that would secure around his thigh if it were activated, “It’s just a prototype, but it was too heavy for me to get into place myself, Shiro had to help. Granted, it has to be sturdy enough to take my entire weight and whatever I might be carrying. Your arm could–“ He paused when he caught a small smile sitting on Grimmjow’s lips, “What?”

“Nothin’.” The big man said, starting to straighten. 

Realizing he’d started rambling, Ichigo cleared his throat and hoped the heat in his features wasn’t too visible. “Oh, you don’t have to get up. Shiro can bring it up here. Shiro-?”

The android interrupted, “I heard.” 

Grimmjow jolted, turning to look over his shoulder and up at the pale creation where it half loomed over him behind the couch. 

Ichigo snorted a laugh, “You didn’t really think I came up here to answer a knock on my door in the middle of the night by myself, did you?”

“He’s been up here this whole time?” Grimmjow turned back to Ichigo, “I didn’t see him, didn’t hear him. How the hell’s he do it?”

“It’s part of what I was designed for.” Shiro supplied, heading for the staircase. It returned a few minutes later, carrying a tangle of straps and clinking metal buckles and a vaguely arm-length rod in one hand and balancing a small stack of weights in the other.

“Looks complicated.” Grimmjow commented, eyeing the collection speculatively. 

Politely thanking his android, Ichigo took the contraption and began straightening straps out, leaving the weights with Shiro for now. To Grimmjow, he said, “It’ll make more sense when there’s an actual arm attached to it. Right now it all looks out of place and half finished because it is.” Once he had the harness organized, he held it up. “The cuff obviously goes over your arm and should reach about to your shoulder. Now that I’m looking at it, though, I think I’ll need it to cover a little higher, probably up over your shoulder entirely, to make sure we have good leverage and a solid connection.” He made a mental note of it. “It should fit pretty snug in order to ensure full contact with your skin. If it’s not, the arm might lose connection and turn into dead weight in the middle of whatever you’re using it for.” Shifting in his chair, he leaned in and began sliding the cuff into place, only realizing after he’d began that it might be something of an awkward situation for Grimmjow. The man would just have to get used it, though, because the arm he was designing was going to require two hands to put into place. Maybe eventually, if they both lived that long, he’d make something lighter and simpler, but for now, what he had in mind would sacrifice ease and simplicity for function and durability. Once the cuff was in place, he began puling the straps tight; one from near the top of the cuff, crossing Grimmjow’s chest to buckle under his other arm; one from lower on the cuff, criss-crossing to connect to the first strap near Grimmjow’s collar bone. When that was done, he hooked fingers in the straps and gave experimental tugs to check the fit, then sat back to give it a look. “Ok. Try moving around, roll your shoulders, lift your arms, twist, maybe do some one armed push ups or something.”

Grimmjow, running a finger under the straps as he checked it out, grunted a laugh. “You just wanna watch that last one.”

“Of course I do. For scientific purposes.” Ichigo cleared his throat. “Can you…? Do a one armed pushup?”

Going through a few of the motions that were suggested, Grimmjow glanced up with a smirk, “Sometimes it really shows how long you’ve been cooped up alone.”

Ichigo’s features heated, but he insisted, “I’m serious! You’re going to have to be able to move around and work and strain in it. It needs to be comfortable enough to wear longterm, and still stay secure while-“

“Ok, easy Tiger, I was kidding.” Grimmjow cut him off, but the amusement was still obvious in his tone and on his features. “Yeah, I can do a few pushups.”

By the time Ichigo was done running Grimmjow through various exercises and stretches, and testing the weight limit of what he could feasibly carry on his left and still keep his range of motion, Grimmjow was sweating. It was a better workout than he’d had in what seemed like ages, since he lost his arm at the very least. He dropped back to the couch heavily, then turned to sprawl out on his back, arm thrown over his eyes, while he worked to catch his breath. 

Ichigo smacked his thigh, “You’re gross, take a shower before you fall asleep on my couch!”

Grimmjow grunted unhappily, but when he peeked under his raised arm, a glass of water was being presented to him. He sat up and gladly accepted it. “Fine. A shower.” He said after downing half the glass, “But if I’m gonna be squeaky clean, I get the bed tonight.” Preoccupying himself with another drink, he watched Ichigo’s reaction over the rim of the glass.

Features blanking out for a delayed moment, a frown slowly settled across Ichigo’s face. “You know I can’t sleep on the couch, right?” He motioned down at himself as if it should have been obvious.

Merely shrugging, Grimmjow settled the empty glass against one knee, absently twisting it. “Yeah. So what?”

“A-are you…inviting yourself into my bed? With me?” Heat was beginning to creep up Ichigo’s neck. Nearby, after having dropped off the harness and everything else back at its master’s workspace, Shiro’s narrowed gaze flickered between the two men.

“I guess I am.” A smirk tugged across handsome features as Grimmjow quit twisting the cup and straightened to his feet. “Think it over, I’m gonna take that shower now.” He detoured to the kitchen to drop the cup off on the counter before heading down the hallway.

“I could still kill him.” Shiro chimed in helpfully when all Ichigo did was stare after the bigger man as he disappeared through the bathroom doorway. 

Settling his elbow against the armrest of his chair, Ichigo dropped his features into his hand and muttered, “No… That wont be necessary.”

They spent the first twenty-five minutes of that night in awkward silence, a solid six inches of space between them on the bed. To Ichigo’s surprise, when he’d let Grimmjow follow him down the hall and into his room, the man had simply held his chair still for him while he navigated with practiced motions and got into bed on his own. It wasn’t an easy task, and some nights were a lot harder than others, but it was one he was used to and, living alone all this time, he didn’t want help with everyday things if he didn’t need it. Grimmjow hadn’t asked or commented, showing no pity. Then he’d rounded the bed, tugged his shirt and pants back off, and climbed in on the other side in just his boxers to lay down quietly.

Finally, after an awkwardly long time, Grimmjow rolled over and, without a word, slung his arm around Ichigo’s middle over the blanket. Brows arched, Ichigo slowly looked over, studying Grimmjow’s features in the darkness of the room for a few moments, before turning his head to look up at the ceiling again. Settling back in, he rested a hand on the warm forearm over his waist and found it suspiciously easy to fall asleep after that.

That morning turned into a lazy one. They woke up late and stayed in bed even later, enjoying the peace of a companionably quiet room and a warm bed. Eventually, Ichigo lifted his hands to scrub the sleep from his features and scratch nails through his sleep-rumpled hair with a lazy yawn. “I need to get up.” He announced with a hint of disappointment in his voice. 

“No ya don’t.” Grimmjow muttered against his shoulder, not moving a muscle.

Ichigo smiled lightly, but pushed up on an elbow, watching as Grimmjow rolled onto his back beside him. “I do. I have things to do. And breakfast sounds nice.”

“Mmm. Breakfast does sound nice.” The bigger man agreed, finally opening his eyes to look up at him. He folded his arm behind his head. “You cook? Or does that truck sittin’ out front actually run? I know I nice little, hole in the wall diner on my side of town I could take you to.”

Ichigo huffed a laugh. “Both. I can cook, but I don’t particularly enjoy it. And the truck does run, but you couldn’t drive it anyway.”

Grimmjow grunted. “Shoulda guessed that old thing would be manual transmission.”

“No, it’s not, actually. But it has a wheel chair ramp and no driver seat. Besides, I already have plans.”

“Oh, and you just didn’t invite me.”

Rolling his eyes, Ichigo reached over to pull his chair closer. “You’re here, aren’t you? Now get out of my room so I can get changed.”

Grimmjow laughed, but sat up. “Oh please. I saw that morning tent in the blankets an hour ago, what do you have to hide from me at this point?”

Halfway in his chair, Ichigo’s head snapped around to send a sharp, embarrassed glare. “I have two fists, asshole, you can’t block both.”

“Good luck catching me.” He grinned widely as he straightened, stretched with a groan, and began pulling his pants on. Standing, he rounded the bed, bent to kiss Ichigo on his way by like he’d done it a thousand times, and finally left the room.

“Infuriating.” Ichigo muttered to himself, his inner monologue chastising him when he realized that he really wasn’t annoyed at all. It was silly, maybe, and certainly ridiculous, but he hadn’t been quite this happy in a long time. Whatever was building between them was still new, but it had skipped most of the awkward parts and what they had now was already comfortable and fun.

Once done dressing, Ichigo made his way to the bathroom and readied for his day, before joining Grimmjow again. He rounded the corner of the kitchen entry just in time to see Grimmjow lowering the empty milk jug, using his heel to push the refrigerator door closed.

“Really? You’re that kind of man? You’re going to help yourself to my fridge and can’t even use a glass?”

Grimmjow scoffed, tossing the empty carton into the trash. “It was almost empty anyway, why dirty a glass?”

A cheery knock on the door made them both pause. Grimmjow, half frozen where he stood, slid a glance over at Ichigo, blinking, then frowning when he realized Ichigo didn’t look surprised in the least. “Your plans.” He grunted.

Ichigo smiled. “Go answer that, will you?”

“You’re having company over and you didn’t warn me to put a shirt on?” He moved towards the door.

“No way. I like when you walk around half naked.”

Shirtless and grinning his amusement, Grimmjow pulled the door open and was met with a very surprised young woman. 

“Oh!” The woman’s attention shot upward when she wasn’t greeted by who she was expecting, getting an eyeful of naked torso and low slung denim waistband. Her features tinted and the grocery bags in his hands crinkled as she bowed a slight apology.

From further in the house and out of sight came the familiar voice of said home’s owner. “Let her in, Grimm, don’t make her stand in the doorway.”

Grimmjow stepped aside and watched the young lady shuffle awkwardly passed him. Pushing the door shut behind her, he grabbed a few of the bags as he followed her to the kitchen. She clearly knew where it was.

“Thank you!” She chirped happily, leading the way and glancing over at him. “Ichigo! You didn’t tell me you would have a friend over. You didn’t tell me you had friends at all.” The note in her tone was teasing as she slid the bags onto the counter.

“It was… a last minute thing.” Ichigo hedged, a little bit of heat creeping up his neck. “Orihime, Grimmjow. Grimmjow, Orihime. Orihime has been a huge help with things like this. And Grimmjow is… A friend.”

The young woman began pulling groceries from bags in an automatic, mechanical way as she glanced between the two men. “A friend.” She smiled sweetly and knowingly at them. She offered her hand to Grimmjow, “Nice to meet you. It’s good to see he gets out often enough to make friends. Every once in a while, he lets me drag him to the store with me. How did you two meet?”

Ichigo hesitated, but Grimmjow cut in with an easy answer. “PT.”

“Physical therapy, yes.”

Orihime’s features lit up. “I thought you said you’d quit going, Ichigo, that’s great.”

“I- Uh… Still not going as often as I should, but…”

“That’s alright!” Turning from the two, she began putting things away, bouncing around the kitchen like she’d been there a thousand times. “It’s a start, and now you’ll have more incentive to keep at it.”

Grimmjow glanced over at Ichigo while her back was turned, receiving a shrug for the look he gave. “You quit going?” He ventured. It was news to him.

“Yeah. Well. It was nothing but an exercise in futility and frustration.” Ichigo admitted, backing his chair towards the kitchen table. 

“Not enough to keep you from trying again.” Orhime chimed in, not looking at them, but the smile was obvious in her tone. When she finished putting the groceries away, she turned to Ichigo, leaned in conspiratorially, and stage whispered, “He’s extremely attractive, maybe you two can practice some in-home PT.” 

Ichigo’s features went bright red and Grimmjow barked a laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first and second halves of this chapter are a little whiplash-y but I couldn't resist a little softness :)


	6. Chapter 6

Aizen was catching on. It was an inevitability, of course, and always had been. Sooner or later, a man as smart and conniving as Aizen was going to realize he was being hunted. The body count was growing, the number of failed meetings were adding up. But the words seeped through Ichigo with a sense of dread.

Aizen was catching on. 

“The mission hasn’t changed.” The android stood facing its creator. It wasn’t capable of worry or fear, but it was programmed with intelligence and determination, and fighting is what it did best. Its job was to make Ichigo’s goal happen, by any means necessary. Even in the event of Ichigo’s death, Shiro would continue on with a built in drive that would see the android destroyed beyond functioning before it stopped going after Aizen and his operation.

“No, it hasn’t.” Ichigo agreed.

“The goal hasn’t either.” There was a slight hint of question in the mechanical, echoing tone as Shiro tilted its head slightly, gold eyes flickering towards the silent figure standing at Ichigo’s side.

“No.” Ichigo agreed again. “It hasn’t.” Shiro was learning at an incredible rate, enough so that he’d begun consulting the android when drawing up plans and ideas for their next moves. While Ichigo was clever, Shiro was experienced in the fighting and ambushing aspect of what they did. That experience, coupled with the android’s AI, made it so Shiro was picking up on tactics.

“The arm is nearing completion? And the new brace?” The android asked, though it knew the answer. It was almost as though it was trying to force Ichigo to see that they were still on course, that Ichigo was still in control thus far.

Ichigo nodded.

“So your tools needed are almost ready and nothin’s changed.” Was Shiro’s simple conclusion to the news. It nodded. “The witness will have to be more careful while attending Aizen’s council, but you and I are in the same situation as before.”

The android was right, of course, and Ichigo sighed, glancing up at Grimmjow. It was always going to be like this, eventually. There was no way around it, no clean way to get rid of a man and his entire corrupt organization. And he and Grimmjow had already agreed that they couldn’t just drop what they were doing and move on.

At his side, the man scowled across at the android, “Are you ever going to learn my name?”

Shiro smirked a sharp expression, flashing white teeth. “No.”

Ichigo cracked a small smile, turned his chair, and went back to work.

•••

It was hardly a week later that the time came. Grimmjow strolled through the hallway of Aizen’s office. He had an impromptu meeting with the man, unbeknownst to Aizen, but as he neared the door to Aizen’s office, low voices made him pause.

“-not going back home at nights.”

Aizen, unseen to Grimmjow, hummed a quiet, dignified sound. “Where’s our little sexta spending his time, then?”

Hand on the door, ready to push it open further to let himself in, Grimmjow froze, eyes slowly widening. His heart hammered in his chest, and he very carefully pulled his hand off the door.

“It took us a while to track him down, he’s being careful.”

“And he’s smarter than he looks.” A different voice added.

More than just Aizen and one other person, Grimmjow’s mind supplied, instantly shutting down the suicidal idea of barging in and trying to kill Aizen then and there.

“He’s heading to the west side of town, we couldn’t figure it out. There’s not a lot of business out there-“

“Out with it.” Aizen’s tone implied his impatience, accompanied by the quietest clink of a glass.

“We were able to follow him to an old house. The property’s pretty overgrown, looks unkept. But we dug around and pulled up some records. The property used to be owned by the Kurosaki household and was never officially sold off.”

The chair scraped as Aizen shot to his feet, glass thunking back to the desk. “What-“ He asked, his voice still deceptively controlled, “-is in that house? What is my sexta doing?”

Whoever Aizen was meeting with hesitated, before the second person answered, “We don’t know. All we know is that the house appears to be occupied, and Jaegerjaquez spends more nights there than his own apartment.”

“A woman?” Aizen asked, “He’s been quiet since losing his arm, but it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary.”

“Could be.” One of his cronies answered, “But it seems awfully suspicious that the property is in the Kurosaki name.”

“Yes…” Aizen agreed. He’d heard all the rumors of a surviver as well. Everyone had. He’d made it punishable to speak of, but it was still there. Years ago now, witnesses swore one of the family members had still been alive when the paramedics had arrived. “Bring Grimmjow to me and burn that house down.”

Grimmjow didn’t stick around to hear more. He cursed, turned on his heel, and ran. At the far end of the hallway, he slammed through the door, letting it bang wildly against the wall behind it as he burst into the cool, outside air, then began digging into his pocket to yank out his phone.

It rank until an automated voice informed him that voicemail had never been set up. He cursed again, and redialed. 

Four times, and he got no answer. With a frustrated snarl, he shoved the phone back into his pocket as he ran through the streets as fast as he could push himself. Three blocks from the office building, he darted out into the road and nearly got hit. The car screeched to a halt just inches from him, and he slammed a fist on the hood, before rounding the car and yanking the door open. “I need your car.” He said, dragging a handgun from the waistband of his pants. 

“What?! Fuck you, buddy, are you–“ But the protests died as Grimmjow shoved the barrel against the man’s temple. The song changed and Grimmjow dragged the driver out and threw himself into the seat, peeling out as he took off.

He got to the house too late. A line of vehicles were already pulled into the yard, caging the front of the old house. The front door was open, hanging brokenly on its hinges. Smoke wafted through broken windows.

Throwing the car in park with a grind of unhappy breaks and gears, Grimmjow thew himself from the vehicle and tore around to the side of the house, using an elbow to break the first window he came to that didn’t lead into the main entry. He pushed himself through the window and dropped in a crouch in Ichigo’s bedroom. It was empty, the door that led out into the hallway partly ajar. Creeping forward, he peered through, seeing the dance of shadows caused by lurid flames. Black smoke curled across the ceiling.

Darting through the doorway, he made a run for the stairwell, knowing where Ichigo would be. Gunfire sprayed from somewhere, but the heat and fire, the shadows and the smoke kept the shooter out of sight. The reverse was true; the shooter was firing blind, or close enough to it, because the shots were wildly inaccurate, leaving Grimmjow safe as he threw himself down the stairwell.

Something caught fire with a loud series of pops before it exploded. The house shook and he ducked, throwing his arm up as debris rained down around him, the stairs creaking ominously. Dust clouded the air. From somewhere above, he could hear gunfire, yelling, and something louder. “Ichigo?!” He shouted through the gloom as his feet hit the unfurnished concrete of the basement floor. The lights flickered, going out, and the workshop was bathed in the dim glow of emergency power from the screens mounted on one wall. “Ichi-?” He paused, listening as something scraped along the ground. Then a cough, and he scrambled in that direction.

He found Ichigo on the ground, under the metal table he used as a work bench. His wheelchair was on its side, one wheel slowly turning. Ichigo coughed again, pushing himself up onto an elbow, “What the hell was that? What’s–”

“We gotta go!” Grimmjow ignored the question, sliding on his knees up to the man. He hesitated for half a second as a familiar set of straps caught his attention. He grabbed the prosthetic, shoving it against Ichigo’s chest, then wrapped his one arm around Ichigo’s middle, “Come on, hurry.” And began pulling him up. “Hold onto me, we gotta get out of here.”

“What? Grimmjow- Wait!” But Grimmjow was already dragging him towards the narrow staircase Ichigo had never used. Ichigo shifted the prosthetic, hooking a strap over his shoulder, “Wait, what about Shiro? Grimmjow, we-“

“No time.” Grimmjow grit out, his grip awkward. He did what he could to readjust his hold, his arm wrapped around Ichigo’s middle, hand fisted in his belt. “I’m sorry, Ichigo, but we can’t get to him. They’re here.”

Ichigo shook his head, trying to turn enough to look back into the workshop. His arms were thrown around Grimmjow’s neck, hanging on. He had no way of knowing how much, if any, damage the android may have taken in the explosion, or the surrounding computers and machinery. “Shiro!” He yelled into the dark, “Engage!” The cradle should have come to life, he was sure of it, even with power loss to the rest of the building. He was sure he should see the glow of it even through the filtering dust. He coughed again, wetness stinging at his eyes.

The walls shook again and Grimmjow staggered with a grunt, thrown up against the railing of the staircase. Missing that arm, he couldn’t use it to push off, and Ichigo couldn’t help him with the extra weight of himself. He struggled in keeping his grip and his balance at the same time, but struggle he did, and began the ascent again, as fast as he could carry them.

Ichigo stared into the darkness behind and below them, “Shiro!” he tried again, the desperation in his voice obvious, “Respond, damn you!” But still nothing. He could feel Grimmjow struggling, feel the surge and strain of muscle. After a forlorn moment, he shook himself awake, and began fumbling with the prosthetic arm, one of his own arms still slung around Grimmjow’s shoulder while he worked the strap free with his other hand. Once he had a hold of it, he started to let go of the man carrying him, warning with a, “I’ve got it, I’m going to put it on.” It was enough to get the point across, and he felt Grimmjow’s real arm tighten yet further around his middle, until he thought the air would be pushed out of his lungs. Reaching one arm across Grimmjow’s broad chest and the other across his shoulder blades, he pulled the prosthetic over what remained of Grimmjow’s left arm, tugging it tight along his shoulder. Between being jostled around as Grimmjow half carried, half dragged him over the last step of the stairs, it was difficult to secure. He yanked the straps across, buckling them, and when the prosthetic still didn’t seem secure enough, he yanked even harder, pulling back with his weight hard enough that Grimmjow grunted again, a sneer twisting his dirt streaked features. But there wasn’t time to apologize. Satisfied that it’d be secure enough for now, he dragged the sleeve of Grimmjow’s shirt out of the way so that the inside edges of the prosthetic, where the censors sat, were against skin.

Nothing happened. The arm hung like dead weight. Ichigo cursed, digging his fingertips under the edge of it where it hugged tight against Grimmjow’s shoulder, feeling at the inner lining. He couldn’t find anything wrong with it. “Dammit!” He cursed again, thumping a fist against the front panel that reached nearly to Grimmjow’s clavicle. “Come on-“

All at once, Grimmjow’s entire left arm seemed on fire worse than any phantom pain he’d felt. He gasped, the air pushed from his lungs, and nearly dropped Ichigo. Nerves that had been severed and dead with the amputation suddenly began firing as the experimental prosthetic connected. Unable to keep ahold of Ichigo in the wake of that terrible pain, he staggered through a doorway, nearly sinking to his knees, and managing to prop them up against the adjoining wall, stunned, teeth grit. As the shock of the connection began to ebb, he realized he could move the fingers of it.   
“Don’t think about it.” Ichigo instructed, “Let muscle memory and instinct guide it.” 

Grimmjow cursed, then stooped, “Hang on again.” He told Ichigo, wrapping his good arm around behind Ichigo’s back, then hooking the fake one behind Ichigo’s knees. Taking the man’s weight didn’t feel great on his left shoulder, but he pushed the pain of using the prosthetic so harshly out of his mind, and began running again. 

The windows on the first floor shattered behind them as Grimmjow crashed them through a sliding glass door and into the winding, overgrown maze that was the house’s unkept backyard. Behind them, something ground and crunched, and a man screamed in pain. The entire building lurched and fire licked out above the roof to reach for the sky. Grimmjow could feel the heave of Ichigo’s chest as a soundless sob marked his sheer grief. 

Ichigo’s voice was a breathless whisper in Grimmjow’s ear. “All my work… Shiro…”

“Better than your life.” Grimmjow growled back, slipping through the poorly maintained fence and heading into the city that surrounded the old keep. His footfalls were heavy on the cracked blacktop and he was slowing down again. Cutting down an alley, they heard rushed steps behind them and he cursed again, but shook his head. He couldn’t keep this up, they couldn’t get away like this. 

“Put me down.” Ichigo told him, voice low. “You can run. Use me as your payment, you’ll be more than flush. Maybe they’ll give up on finding you.”

Grimmjow didn’t even answer. He bared teeth and turned another corner. He didn’t know how to give up, he didn’t know how to stop fighting, stop struggling. It was the only thing he could do right then. “There’s a gun.” He said, breaths harsh. Ichigo may not have been as big as him, but he wasn’t a small man either. “In my waistband, can you reach it?” 

Ichigo’s hands dropped to his pants, then felt along them until he found the gun, pulling it free.

“When you get a clear shot, they have a clear shot too.”

Swallowing, Ichigo nodded, and loaded the chamber. As often as he’d seen, through surveillance, the brutal nature of his android’s handiwork, he’d never actually killed anyone himself. His hands shook as he held the gun out behind Grimmjow, arms wrapped around the man’s neck. 

Not even a minute later, the first of their pursuers came around the corner they’d turned. Ichigo squeezed the trigger. The gunshot echoed through the alley, bouncing off the walls and ringing in their ears, but it hit true. Aizen’s guy tripped like he forgot how his legs worked, then crumbled to the ground, hands going to his stomach as blood and bile welled between his fingers. He shot the second guy in the shoulder. At close range -not ten paces away- the bullet spun the man around and threw him against the wall, where he slumped, his agonized cry enough to sicken Ichigo’s stomach. His hands trembled.

“Doin’ good.” Grimmjow assured like he knew the toll this was surely taking on Ichigo. He skidded out from the alley, searched both ways for anyone that might be trying to head them off, then took them across the street and into another narrow side street. 

A third pursuer burst from the alley and Ichigo pulled the trigger. The shot went wide, barely grazing the figure. Ichigo clenched his jaw around a curse, and fired again just as they turned another corner.

Trying to keep their hunters from getting too clear a shot, Grimmjow took just about every turn they came across. He didn’t have a destination in mind, only knowing that they had to keep moving, they had to lose those chasing them. The odds weren’t great.

The fourth figure that came into view didn’t so much run around the corner as dive. Ichigo pulled the trigger, but the man was dead before the bullet hit him. Something just out of sight smacked wetly and a spray of blood splattered the opposite wall. Ichigo stared, wide-eyed, “Grimmjow…”

Not a moment later, as Grimmjow was turning to get a look at what was coming at them, Shiro came around the corner, dropping something wet and red and stringy. 

“Shiro!” The gun clattered to the ground as Ichigo twisted to face the android with the change in the bigger man’s motions. 

Grimmjow slumped against the cold, damp wall of the building lining the back street, back against the brick. His arms trembled, the prosthetic sending waves of alternating heat and cold along the nerves in his shoulder in a sickening ache. He groaned a low sound as he panted to catch his breath.

“Ichigo.” Gold eyes briefly found and held blue, before dismissing him to look over its creator. Blood dripped from long fingered, pale hands in thick tendrils. It splattered the pale carapace of Shiro’s shell, stark against the white. In one hand, the android carried Ichigo’s brace and this it handed over to Grimmjow.

“Never been happier to see you, robot.” Grimmjow told the android, carefully pulling his arm from under Ichigo’s knees, lowering the smaller, as he took the brace. He shifted the rest of Ichigo’s weight to the android, watching the almost gentle way those blood stained, artificial hands flattened against Ichigo’s back.

Ichigo wrapped his arms around Shiro in as much an embrace as to hang on, astonished by his own relief as the android effortlessly held him upright, his legs all but deadweight below him. He craned his neck to look over at Grimmjow. “Line it up from top to bottom. You’ll have to pull my shirt up so the nerve pad can line up with my spine.” He felt Grimmjow’s hand, the flesh one, push the hem of his shirt up, the backs of rough knuckles brushing skin scared by multiple surgeries. And he felt as one of Shiro’s metal hands lifted slightly, before those fingers hooked in the edge of his shirt to hold it out of the way. The android’s head turned away from them, tilting as it listened. “Ok,” Ichigo said, “Hurry up. You’re going to have to force the bands shut since it’s not hooked up to the chair. Shiro; besides the dead ones, how many did you see?”

Shiro shifted slightly, to get a better look behind himself. “Eight commanders at base-”

“Fuck.” Grimmjow snarled, “He’s called them in.”

“Who?” Ichigo asked, wincing at the rough pinch of metal being forced into place around his abdomen. After the first, though, the rest closed easier, snug along his hips, thighs, and down around his legs.

“My–“ Grimmjow hesitated, kneeling as he worked his way down. “My coworkers…” He admitted. “He calls them the espada; his sword. They’re the elite. They each head their own team.”

Ichigo frowned, “Elite- like his generals or whatever? I thought he had ten.” 

“Yeah. Shiro got one in the last major raid. And I, uh- I killed my replacement a couple weeks ago. He thought it was amusing enough to let me get away with it, so he’s down to eight now.”

Eyes widening, Ichigo clenched hands around Shiro’s metal arm as his weight was eased down for the brace to take. The metal felt tight around his middle and hips. He could barely feel the ghosting of that pressure around his legs and even this he couldn’t be sure wasn’t a phantom. It made no difference. The brace hummed to life with a quiet whisper of mechanical gears and adjusted to his weight and balance. “You were one of the ten?”

“I was the Sexta.” Grimmjow admitted in a growl, blue eyes trained down the alleyway. 

Ichigo shook his head, “It doesn’t matter now. This wont let me do much, I still can’t run, not far at least, or jump, or climb a fence, right? But it’ll give us a few more options. We need to get out of here.”

Agreeing, Grimmjow absently rubbed at the cuff over the stump of his left arm, mechanical fingers flexing as he bent the arm to look down at the fist. “If we survive this, remind me to better appreciate this thing.”

Ichigo snorted, “I think you mean ‘better appreciate me’.” He turned, a hand tight against the cool, smooth metal of Shiro’s forearm. This new brace was as untested as Grimmjow’s new arm, but the arm was holding up splendidly thus far. Its test had been brief, but intense and thorough and it preformed better than Ichigo would have logically hoped for had they been in his basement putting it through the motions in a controlled environment.

Shiro paced him, keeping close and with an arm held out, but the android’s attention kept shifting towards the direction they’d come from. It had torn through the pursuers it had come across, but the trail of bodies would be easy to follow. “No sight of Aizen yet.” It told them.

Sucking a hissing breath through his teeth, Grimmjow trailed at Ichigo’s other side as they began moving again, heading further away from the destroyed home. “He’ll show up, but only after he gets word of how messy this has gotten. And when he does, it’ll be just out of reach. He’ll want to see it with his own eyes, but he wont step in unless he thinks his team can’t handle it.”

“Guess we need to keep making a ruckus then.” Ichigo decided, glancing over at his android. Shiro grinned a wide, eager expression.

They turned a bend in the narrow alleyway to find a corner where two different buildings met. The street beyond was obscured, the building on the right leaning and sagging with age to effectively block their path and create a dead end. Moss clung to the bricks, bits of a scraggly green vine poking through and using the structures to climb toward the sun. Ten feet from the dead end, an old rickety door led into the sagging building. Grimmjow crossed to it, twisting the knob and tugging, but the door was locked and while it creaked under his weight, it didn’t budge. “Dammit!” He cursed, looking the building up and down, before chancing a glance in the direct they’d come.

“Not an option.” Shiro said, as if the android knew he was wondering if they could double back. The echo of hushed voices reached them as a chill, winter rain began to patter against the cracked blacktop around them. The android stepped away from its creator to flatten a hand against the rickety door. The wood groaned a protest as it pushed. Shiro hummed a calculative sound, then motioned the other two back. Without warning, it leaned back, then threw itself forward, shoulder first. The door splintered apart under the combined weight, momentum and strength of the android.

Shiro stumbled through, then straightened in the doorway, still and silent for a short moment. Waving the other two forward, it stepped aside. They crept through the back entrance of an old, shut down factory. Dust settled in a thick, undisturbed layer across the dirty floor of the narrow walkway. Outdated machinery lined the space like dead leviathans, powerless, quiet in their indignant retirement. Grimmjow waved cobwebs from the air in front of him as he pressed forward, Ichigo behind him and Shiro taking up the rear. Crates and boxes and stacks of tied off newspapers crowded the rooms they passed by.

Scuffing from the broken the doorway straightened Shiro’s spine and the android turned to glance back, gauging. A spray of aimless gunfire had Grimmjow and Ichigo ducking, before Grimmjow scrambled to get ahold of Ichigo and rush him through the twisting walkway. “Shiro!” Ichigo hissed quietly. When the android hesitated, he urged, “Come on. That’s a big gun, if that hits you at close range it’s going to tear you apart. Your shell wasn’t designed for that.”

The android hummed an unimpressed, displeased sound, but hurried after the two.

Without power, the old factory was steeped in deep shadows. Coupled with the clutter of a disorganized, abandoned space, the going was slow. Each step Ichigo took was measured and careful, and more than once, he found himself hanging onto the man at his side as his weight shifted on uneven footing. Behind them, Shiro provided a small measure of security. However, their time was short and more gunfire exploded the silence, a bullet ricocheting off the wall nearby.

Shiro grabbed Ichigo’s arm, took a couple of quick, hard steps, then turned and threw itself through a closed door. The door banged open to slam into a rickety pile of boxes behind it, shuddering the stack. Ichigo was dragged into the room and out of immediate range of the gunman. Grimmjow followed on the android’s heels.

The door opened into a closed off room with no other exits or entrances. They were trapped.

“We can’t keep running-“ Ichigo’s voice was tight, strained. The extra motion and speed wasn’t doing him any favors. Shiro and Grimmjow were doing most of the heavy lifting, but his body wasn’t used to this, wasn’t capable of this anymore. The brace helped, but it only went so far. He reached out and grabbed Grimmjow’s arm as they neared the back of the room. “You should go. Shiro can buy you time, get out of here while you can. If– If Shiro and I manage to lose them, we’ll regroup–“

“Fuck you.” Grimmjow practically snarled, taking other man aback. “I’m part of this now, I’m not about to back out of it. Don’t act like you expect me to just leave you.”

“But Grimm-“

“No.” The word held finality; there was no discussion to be had here, no debate. 

From somewhere in the maze of dirty, brick walls and clutter, a singsong voice called out, “Griiiimmmjoww- Here, kitty kitty–“

Shiro pivoted to face the taunting voice.

Grimmjow’s lip curled to bare teeth. “Nnoitra.” He growled under his breath. “I owe that bitch more than money.”

“You know, Grimm-“ The voice called again, louder and closer this time, “You coulda gotten away if you weren’t draggin’ that cripple around with you. Aizen doesn’t even want him dead.” A sharp cackle, “Not yet, anyway. That fancy robot’s a nice toy; he thinks your pal’ll be useful for a while.” 

Nnoitra was stalking closer, and he was good at what he did, else he never would have held his seat at the table for so long. Grimmjow grit his teeth, putting a bit of space between himself and Ichigo. He wasn’t fooled; Aizen had surely pieced together who Ichigo was, and had a terrible fate in mind for him. 

“But you, Grimmjow. You shoulda run for the hills while we were all busy with this little rat hunt. He wants you dead.” Nnoitra laughed again.

Shiro pushed out a growl, then its eyes snapped to Grimmjow in the low lighting of the old building. It pointed. “You, witness, post up behind those shelves. When he sees just us, he’ll assume you ran. He wont be ready for you. Even if he reacts quickly, he doesn’t know you have two arms again.” Blue eyes narrowed and the android nodded, “Bait. I can keep Ichigo safe and your coworker’s attention on me.”

“Shiro, this isn’t-“ Ichigo started, but Grimmjow was already moving, quiet as a cat. In his right hand, he’d drawn a knife. They were out of time. He could hear the footsteps, calm and confident, on the stained concrete floor in the hallway. 

The android backed Ichigo against the far wall, then crossed the few paces to put itself in the center of the cluttered room. Under the guise of making space, it kicked aside a heavy box and listened as it scraped and clattered across the gritty floor and into the debris half a dozen feet away. 

Nnoitra came around the corner then, attention drawn to that box and all the noise it had made, before darting back to the android standing ready in the center of the room. He didn’t even look in Grimmjow’s direction. “Ah. Ditched you after all, did he?” Nnoitra tsked, and though he spoke to Ichigo, his eye never left the creature in the center of the room. “You can’t be too surprised. Couldn’t stay loyal to us and he’d been with us for years. We treated him good, too. You can’t expect him to stay loyal to a man he barely knows.”

Jaw clenched, Ichigo glared daggers at the man. He had nothing to say. If this last ditch, desperate ploy didn’t work and this is where he met his end, he would do it with dignity. The only thing he regretted in his life was not dying with his family, he sure as hell didn’t regret murdering as many of Aizen’s men as he could until he finally joined them. 

“You got any last words?” Nnoitra took another step into the room, the heavy, semi-automatic weapon in his hands pointed at the android. He’d seen it in action, he knew it wouldn’t go down easily.

“Not for you.” Ichigo said. “Shiro.” As always, the android’s response to the cue was a subtle coming alive, a tensing of cables and artificial muscle, a focusing of attention. “Have fun.”

The android took a hard step forward, features twisting into a vicious grin as it stepped resolutely into the direct path of the gun.

Nnoitra raised the barrel, taking aim, focused on what he was sure was an attack. Then he caught movement from his blindside, almost too late, and he swung about, throwing the body of the gun up between himself and the blade being driven at him. The knife slide against metal and held fast, and Nnoitra cackled. “You dense motherfucker!” He scorned, and started to shove forward, intending to throw Grimmjow and his inefficient knife far enough away to shoot him and go back to the robot. “A knife? Do I look like a pitiful-“ His head snapped around as the android approached, too fast.

Seeing the panic light in Nnoitra’s single eye, Grimmjow snarled and drove his artificial left fist in an uppercut straight under the tall bastard’s chin. Nnoitra’s head flew back as he grunted his surprise, thrown back and nearly from his feet.

All at once, in the span of heartbeat, the gun went off, Ichigo dropped to the floor, and Shiro pounced. A stack of crates tumbled over, the bottles within shattering to liter the floor with shards of glass, as the combined weight of Nnoitra and the android slammed into it. Hesitating a split second, Grimmjow turned from the duo and scrambled around debris. “Ichigo?!”

“I’m fine.” Ichigo called from the back corner of the room. Above where he’d landed, three bullets had punched holes into the plaster of the wall. “It missed, I’m fine. But I think I need help getting up.” He struggled to get his feet under him and his weight shifted, reaching down to hook fingers into his brace and try to manually position his feet where they needed to be.

Grimmjow kicked aside some of the junk and knelt at Ichigo’s side, “Fuck, that was close.” He breathed as he glanced at the damaged wall. Turning to look over his shoulder, he shook his head. “No, Nnoi still has the gun, we’re staying down until Shiro gets that thing away from him.”

At the front of the room, a body thudded into the wall and rattled the shelving mounted nearby. Nnoitra cursed with every colorful word he knew and, having worked with him for years, Grimmjow recognized the terror in his voice. 

As if it had heard, Shiro finally wrestled the weapon free and flung it aside like a frisbee. It slammed into the wall and nearly dropped on Grimmjow. He ducked, spit a curse of his own, then grabbed the gun as it clattered against the floor. He checked the clip, but when he stood, gun leveled and ready, his eye met Nnoitra’s and he lowered the barrel. 

Wide-eyed, the loanshark looked stunned in the worst of ways. His hands trembled as he furiously tried to hold his eviscerated abdomen together. Blood bubbled between his fingers, slipping in thick, gory tendrils down his front to patter across the floor. The fight had left him, and his strength was following. His knees buckled and he dropped to the floor, still staring at Grimmjow across the room.

Standing in front of him, Shiro cocked its head, then casually dropped the broken bottle it had grabbed. “Target neutralized.” It informed. 

Propping the gun against the wall, Grimmjow stooped and began helping Ichigo to his feet. Once upright, Ichigo, with the aide of his brace, was able to steady himself. Bracing a hand against Grimmjow’s arm, he pushed away from the wall, nodding his thanks. He picked his way through the room, skirting the injured man still kneeling in a spreading pool of blood and bile in front of the doorway.

Grimmjow followed him, but paused in front of his old coworker. He started down at the man as Nnoitra slowly, agonizingly lost his struggle to survive a grievous wound. “You had this coming, asshole.” Then he stepped passed, leaving Nnoitra to die on the dirty floor, alone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Enjoy :)

Grimmjow edged around the corner, stolen gun proceeding him. All seemed quiet for now and he stepped out, eyes scanning their surroundings. “Ulquiorra’s the one we should be looking out for. Aizen always sends that little bastard after his problems.” He glanced over to where Shiro was following him, holding Ichigo piggy-back style, hands tucked under Ichigo’s thighs to keep him aloft. Ichigo’s arms circled the android’s neck, face drawn and pale from the exertion of their last several hours, but his expression was stoney and his eyes were clear. “If we can take him out, it should finally flush Aizen out in person.”

Ichigo nodded. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but I never imagined this would end up being a street by street hunt.” Ideally, he’d hoped to eliminate Aizen’s support, wipe out most if not all of the espada, and then send Shiro in for Aizen last. It was all supposed to be on his terms, his and Shiro’s. Instead, they found themselves hunted and trying to pick off as many of their hunters as they could while they searched for their real target.

The cold, winter rain made the streets hazy and had an odd way of distorting sound. The echo of footsteps could have been just around the next corner, or two streets down, or it could have been just the patter of rain dripping from the full gutter of the building next to them. 

“Shoulda built a whole army of robots instead of just Shiro.” Grimmjow commented, his tone disgustingly casual given their circumstances. 

Inverted eyes narrowed over at him. “Shoulda let me kill the witness in the first place.” 

Ichigo rolled his eyes. “Good to know that even while we’re fighting for our lives, you two can hassle each other.” The sun was starting to sink low in the overcast sky and the streets were shadowed, shrouded in misty rain. “We should be looking for a place to lay low for the night. It’s going to be impossible to see what’s coming until they’re already on top of us, and we can’t do this all night anyway. Let Aizen’s men wear themselves out throughout the night looking for us.” 

“Got any suggestions? Aizen knows all my haunts, they’ll all be covered.”

Just then a phone began ringing, the tone a generic jingle barely louder than the sound of the vibration. All three froze, before Grimmjow cursed and pulled his phone from his pocket where he’d shoved it when he hadn’t been able to get ahold of Ichigo before their wild flight began. Aizen’s name came up on the backlit screen. “Fucking hell-“ Grimmjow cursed again and took the phone between both hands, muscle straining.

“No.” Shiro, pulling one hand from under Ichigo, reached for it before the man could break it.

Ichigo’s arms tightened around the android’s neck, before Shiro more carefully let go of his other leg to ease him down to the ground.

“No?” Grimmjow sputtered, “That bastard could be tracking us with this damn thing right now!” 

“Yes. Let him track us in the wrong direction.” Shiro said, yanking the phone from Grimmjow’s grasp. Down the street a ways, half obscured in the darkening, evening gloom and the misty rain, a traffic light changed colors and an engine was put in gear.

Stiffly, Ichigo walked a few steps to be closer to a slimy brick wall that could take his weight if need be. He sucked in a breath, understanding what his android was getting at. “That could put innocent people in danger, Shiro.”

“It could buy us time.” Shiro countered.

“He’s right, Ichigo. And it’s no more dangerous than it is while they’re shooting up the streets.”

Ichigo hated it, but they were right. He grit out a reluctant, agreeing sound. But, “Answer it first.” The call had been disconnected and was ringing again. “Maybe there will be some sort of background noise to give us a clue as to where he is.”

“The same will be true for him.”

“He’ll hear rain, maybe cars, maybe Shiro and me. That could be anywhere in this city.”

Grimmjow nodded and connected the call, snarling out an impressive curse for a greeting.

Aizen’s smooth voice drifted from the speaker, the tone just barely audible to Ichigo and Shiro over the sound of the rain. Grimmjow’s damp hair hung in his face, shadowing the glacial eyes that turned toward Ichigo. “You can’t have him.” His voice was a growl as hard as stone. “There is no price. You can quit hunting us now and maybe we’ll let you live.”

Aizen’s laugh sang across the speaker. Shiro curled a lip and flashed white teeth. Given how human-like the teeth looked, the expression was far from humanoid, far from tame. White, mechanical fingers curled into fists, then uncurled and it was clear the android wanted to get its hands on the politician. 

Grimmjow grunted a derisive laugh right back. “You think that’s the only one he built?” There was silence on the other end of the phone and a slight, cold smirk curled Grimmjow’s lips. “No where you hide is safe, Aizen. Your espada are nothing.” He hung up the phone, expression shifting into something more strained. He shook his head. “Sounded like he was in his office. Quiet. There was maybe someone moving around close by, or he was pacing, but I doubt that. He’s scared though. He’s trying to make deals.”

“Is that why you told him we have more at our disposal than we do?” Never in his entire life had Ichigo thought he’d genuinely wish he had made an army of androids instead of focusing on one exceptional one. One was impressive enough, especially one of Shiro’s caliber, and Shiro was beyond functional and adequate, but having a dozen Shiros would have made this night a lot less daunting.

“No reason not to keep him nervous. If he’s scared and expecting an attack from every direction, he’ll be more likely to make a mistake.” Grimmjow held the phone out, ready to get rid of it.

Without anther word being said on the matter Shiro, phone in hand, stalked off into the hazy evening in search of a car that would be still long enough for it to slip the phone under the bumper.

They sought cover for the night when it returned. Shiro found them an empty vacation home. The owner was gone for the season and the house was poorly stocked, but the heat worked and it was fully furnished. Ichigo dropped heavily to the nearest sofa, features pale and breaths coming in controlled, tight inhales. He immediately started working the metal fittings around his legs, hands shaking. 

Grimmjow knelt in front of him. “Here. I got it. Sit back.” Relaxing was out of the question, he knew. 

Standing nearby, Shiro tilted its head, running vitals, before it announced, “You’re in pain. What do I need to bring you?”

“Something stronger than they probably have here.” Ichigo ground out. He hadn’t thought to grab the small pharmacy of doctor prescribed medications he kept at home. There hadn’t been time to think about it. He shook his head. Going back was impossible. Sending Shiro back was equally as out of the question. “Check the bathroom, see what’s here.”

Shiro stalked off in search while Grimmjow finished with the brace and helped Ichigo maneuver from it. “Does this thing need dried off? Will it rust or something?”

Ichigo shook his head, using his hands to try pushing himself into a straighter, less slouched position in a vain attempt to lesson the painful tension in his spine and hips. 

Grimmjow set the brace aside, looking up when Shiro returned, looking displeased. The android handed over a few white bottles of generic, over the counter medications. Grimmjow looked the bottles over, then handed one to Ichigo.

Ichigo hissed a breath. “Better than nothing.” But it wasn’t going to do much. He twisted the cap off, unsteadily shaking out as many capsules as he dared take at once, and swallowed them dry.

“Bring the brace.” Shiro instructed, then moved to pick up its creator. “There’s a bed. Both of you need rest. I’ll keep watch through the night.”

There was no arguing. Grimmjow followed the android down the hall with the brace, noting how ginger and careful the killer robot was capable of being. Ichigo was all but limp in its arms, the only tension in his body coming from his clear and obvious discomfort. Now that they’d stopped and the adrenaline had worn off, Ichigo was crashing hard. Grimmjow wondered if he’d be able to keep going in a few hours after they’d rested some. His shoulder throbbed dully and he knew he’d have a stubborn ache for days if they survived all this, but for now it was tolerable and he was much more accustomed to this kind of life than Ichigo.

The house was only one story, but it was upscale and clearly well kept. The bedroom was large, the bed equally so. Setting the brace nearby, where it would be in easy reach, Grimmjow tugged the blankets down so that Shiro could set Ichigo down and help him get comfortable.

Despite his discomfort, Ichigo fell into an exhausted sleep before Grimmjow had even fully settled into the bed beside him. The bigger man ended up on his side, his real arm wrapped around Ichigo’s middle over the blanket. Shiro silently patrolled the house and its yard throughout the night.

••••••

“How?!” Aizen’s voice was the loudest anyone in the room had ever heard it. “How is that one armed gorilla, a cripple, and their pet beating us so badly?” There was panic in the grating, angry tone. His hands were wrapped in a white knuckled grip around a cup that had gone cold. 

“Grimmjow’s always been a surprisingly crafty bastard.” One of his men said from across the room.

Aizen shot him a look that started as annoyed displeasure, then morphed to a scowl. He nodded subtly. “He’s easy to underestimate.” Cold, brown eyes shifted to the side, where a slight and silent man stood. “Ulquiorra. I want this dealt with, as quickly and quietly as possible. Before they can make too much of a scene or go through any more of my men.”

Ulquirra bowed. “Yes sir.” Then left the office.

••••••

Ichigo awoke in pain, sore and stiff and regretting the majority of his life choices. He groaned, the air tight in his lungs, as he worked himself over onto his side. Grimmjow was already up, rubbing at the front of his shoulder where his prosthetic sat against real, living flesh. The bigger man looked over when he heard the sound and felt the mattress shift.

“Where’s Shiro?” Ichigo asked, looking around the shadowed room. The gloom let him know that it was either still early or that the rain hadn’t let up. Maybe both.

Grimmjow shook his head. “Haven’t seen him, haven’t heard him.”

Ichigo’s scowl deepened. He levered himself into something resembling a seated position, despite the ache it sent through his spine and across his hips. “Fuck.” He muttered under his breath. He gave Grimmjow a second look. “Take that off until he gets back. You shouldn’t have slept in it.” 

Grimmjow grunted. “I left it on in case we needed to beat a hasty retreat in the middle of the night.”

“You’re going to be feeling it for weeks.”

“Assuming we live that long.”

Ichigo didn’t reply.

The silence stretched for a few moments, before Grimmjow turned suddenly. He studied Ichigo’s features for a moment. He used a hand, the real one, to turn those scowling features upward as he leaned down to kiss Ichigo. It wasn’t a particularly long kiss, but it was slow and surprisingly tender, and Grimmjow’s thumb brushed Ichigo’s bottom lip at the end of it. The room was still and silent around them. A light patter was just barely audible against the curtain hidden glass of the window.

“…what was that for?” Ichigo asked in the small, quiet space between them.

A handsome smirk tugged at one corner of Grimmjow’s mouth. “You a virgin?”

The soft moment broke and Ichigo’s face went bright red. “What-? I’m not-“

“You were young, right? When you uh- When it happened?”

“I- I– Yes, I was…“ Ichigo stumbled over his answer, shifting his weight up onto an elbow. “I don’t– What are you-“ He shook his head. “What are you getting at?”

Grimmjow shrugged a shoulder, then leaned in again, his lips brushing Ichigo’s. He could practically feel the heat coming off the smaller’s face in the otherwise cool room.

Ichigo sucked in a sharp breath, started to kiss the man back, then stopped and tried to lean away again. “Grimmjow…”

“What?” Grimmjow leaned back some. He didn’t put much space between them, still hovering close, but he gave Ichigo a few inches of personal space. “We’re not leaving until Shiro’s back, right? And, I mean, look at our situation.” He paused, searched Ichigo’s features again. “I wont hurt you. If it hurts, we’ll stop. Ok? If you’re uncomfortable or just not into it, we’ll stop and we’ll wait for Shiro and if we live long enough for it to be awkward, we can talk about it later.”

“I don’t…know… Grimmjow. I like you, but I–“ It was a lot to try to process, let alone admit. “I’m not sure how to make that work. I can’t- There’s a lot of things I can’t do.”

The smirk was back on Grimmjow’s face. “Don’t worry about that. I can do the parts you can’t. We can figure it out.” He brushed a thumb along Ichigo’s jaw, appreciating the way Ichigo tipped his features into the gentle touch. “Why shouldn’t we try?”

Why not try? It was a good question. They were being hunted. They were killing people. Who knew how much more time they had. Even if they managed to survive the organization they’d pitted themselves against, there was those belonging to Aizen that might seek retribution, or law enforcement, or any number of things. 

Why shouldn’t they try?

Ichigo let out small, soundless sigh. “Ok.” It was nearly a whisper. 

Grimmjow nodded, “Ok.” He said it just as quietly, then guided Ichigo the rest of the way back again, using his presance more than his hands. The kiss was just as tender as the first, as Grimmjow carefully maneuvered himself to kneel between Ichigo’s legs, his weight resting on his elbow on the pillow beside Ichigo’s head. Fingertips found his skin, dancing across his clavicle. 

“Take this off.” Ichigo requested, voice quiet in the silent room as his fingers found the strap of the prosthetic. When his answer was a slight nod of agreement, he found the buckles and began loosening everything. The arm disconnected with a soft sigh as the inner workings shut down and it effectively became dead weight. 

Grimmjow reached across himself to pull it free, setting it on the other side of the bed. The phantom sensation of having an arm where none existed was stronger than ever and it must have shown in his face, because Ichigo reached up to smooth his expression with soft touches, before pushing up to kiss him again, harder than the last time. He hoped they had time for some of that to fade.

Grimmjow closed his eyes, focused on the kiss and the callused but careful, precise hands framing his features for a few seconds. The phantom sensation faded from overwhelming to something dull, something more distant. He tipped his head, deepening the kiss and letting his tongue taste soft lips. A smirk found his face again when he felt Ichigo’s breath catch. 

It was a little awkward, and it took some maneuvering until they found something that worked, but for twenty minutes, they allowed themselves to forget their precarious situation and all that came with it. For those twenty minutes, it was just them and cut off moans and sounds of pleasure. Just bunched, twisted sheets and air warmed by heavy breaths.

When they were done, the room fell silent again but for the light patter of rain on the window. Just barely audible, a car drove passed on the seemingly deserted street out front. Laying on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling as he caught his breath, Ichigo half whispered into the quiet room. “I wish we’d met sooner.” 

At his side, Grimmjow shifted to look at him, naked and exposed in the dark. There was a slight, somewhat sad smirk on handsome features. “I don’t think you would’a liked me much if we met before I lost my arm.” The mention of it made his scars itch. He ignored it.

Ichigo studied the expression, but didn’t say anything. Grimmjow was probably right.

Half an hour later and nearly asleep again, Ichigo jerked in startlement at the soft sound of the front door closing. At his side, Grimmjow was already upright, swinging his feet to the floor. He reached for the semi-automatic they’d left at the bedside the night before, but with only one arm, he couldn’t hold it out and steady for long. His attention was on the mostly closed bedroom door as he rounded the bed in a rush, silent as a cat. He set the gun on the mattress beside Ichigo and reached for Ichigo’s brace instead.

The quiet foot steps navigating the hallway paused at the door and both men held their breaths, before a familiar, distorted voice announced itself. “About 67 minutes ‘till sunrise.” Shiro said, shifting contents that crinkled and rattled, then pushed the door open to let itself into the room. “I suggest we-“ It paused, taking in the scene it’d just walked into. “Witness, where’re your pants?”

Grimmjow straightened with a relieved grunt of a laugh. He glanced back at Ichigo briefly. “No one sleeps in pants.”

Ichigo pulled his hand away from the gun he’d been about to lift, flattening his hands on the mattress to push himself into a more upright position. He leaned the gun against the wall beside the bed and started searching for his own pants.

The android looked between them for a few silent minutes, then dismissed whatever was going on and finished entering the room. “Here.” It handed over a paper bag.

“Where were you, Shiro?” Ichigo asked, accepting the bag with a frown. The contents answered his question. Little orange, child proof bottles stared back at him and none of the labels had his name on them. “This is going to attract attention.”

“Yes.” Shiro confirmed. “I suggest we get movin’.”

Ichigo dumped the bag out on the blanket beside him, twisting bottles to read labels. Most of what Shiro had grabbed were prescriptions that he had, at one time or another during Shiro’s creation and existence, been given by his doctors. He wasn’t even sure how Shiro remembered most of them. He took his pick and twisted the cap off. 

“I told the clerk Aizen would come. The building should be empty by now.”

Pulling his shirt down over his abdomen, Grimmjow looked across the bed at the android. “You’re setting a trap.”

Shiro nodded.

“He’ll know as soon as he realizes the building has been cleared out.” 

“Doesn’t matter. He’ll still send his men. We’ve already caused a scene and gotten away, he can’t let that stand. I’ll cut through as many of ‘em as I have to ‘till he comes outta hiding. I was created for this and I’ll see it through.”

Grimmjow nodded. The android was right; Aizen would be pressured to keep up his image. If Shiro managed to tear through enough of his men, Aizen would be forced to handle things on his own. And Grimmjow had no doubt that Shiro could handle the small army Aizen had under his thumb. 

Grimly, Ichigo swallowed a few pills, then began getting dressed. After his brace was in place and he was standing, he helped Grimmjow re-strap his prosthetic in place. It came to life with a quiet whir and a sensation that made Grimmjow grit his teeth.

The taste of metal in his mouth and the static electricity running through his skin faded. Flexing metal fingers, Grimmjow looked over. “We’re almost out of bullets. You wont have much back up in there.”

“Understood.”

They left shortly after that. 

The drug store Shiro had broken into was more of a 24 hour, corner convenience store. Big, glass windows lined the front. A bell hung above the door and a row of coolers lined the back wall, filled with cold drinks and beer. The lights were on, but the rows of shelves and the space behind the counter was suspiciously empty. The glass of front door had been smashed inward, despite that it was surely unlocked when Shiro had shown up. He’d made it obvious where he’d been. It was for show. Aizen would surely know that. 

It suited Shiro just fine.

Just before sunrise, a petite man in a finely pressed, well fitted suit strode up to the broken doors. His polished shoes crunched on the shards of glass littering the entryway. He paused there, looking across the seemingly empty building. Aside from the smashed front door, the convenience store was otherwise untouched, but eerily empty and quiet.

“You should have taken the offer Nnoitra gave you.” The man said in an inflectionless tone as he turned, casually walking down the closest isle towards the back of the store. “Your work with the robot during your meeting with Aizen’s associate was clever. Had you shown this kind cunning sooner, you could have done better than Sexta.” He got no answer and his big, dull eyes narrowed just slightly. A halogen bulb in the back of the store flickered with a quiet crackle.

From outside, a car horn suddenly shattered the silence in a long, held scream of unbroken sound.

Ulquiorra spun on his heel, suit jacket flying open as he pulled twin pistols from holsters under his arms. He ran down the aisle and back for the door. When he reached it, he came face to face with the last of the men he’d brought with him. The man gurgled a wet sound, taking one last stumbling step before collapsing at Ulquiorra’s feet. 

Not a single shot had been fired. The four cars and all their occupants were silent. The vehicle nearest him still blared its horn, a man with a half caved in skull laying dead against the steering wheel, eyes staring sightlessly and bloodshot towards where Ulquiorra stood. 

Shiro stepped around a vehicle, walking calmly towards the hitman. The android’s hands were stained red and gore dripped in thick tendrils from its fingers. The white carapace of its body was splattered like an obscene paint job. 

From behind him, glass crunched and the cold barrel of a semi-automatic found the back of Ulquira’s head. 

“Should’a investigated a little further.” Grimmjow’s rough voice said in a cool tone. “You’re right, Quatro. I could have been higher ranked.”

The stoic man slowly raised his hands, features impassive. He stared at the android, quietly seething. “Aizen will come for you.”

“Good.” 

Ichigo watched from the shadowed alcove of a nearby apartment building as Grimmjow pulled the trigger and shot the smaller man point blank, executioner style. He stepped out, checked the empty street, then crossed with measured steps. The whole thing had taken less than fifteen minutes. They’d waited for Aizen’s men to show up longer than it took to mow through his men. They’d been expecting the trio to be on the run, the way the day prior had gone. But Grimmjow, Ichigo, and the android weren’t running now. They were fighting back.

“This was the one you were hoping for?” Ichigo asked as he stepped over the Espada’s body to enter the corner store. 

Grimmjow nodded. “Number four.” 

“Three more to go, then.” 

“Three more to go.” Grimmjow agreed. The strongest three, or at least the favored three. They gathered what supplies the shop had to offer. Ichigo left the bag of stollen medications on the counter, save for the bottle he’d pocketed and would need in the coming hours. 

••••••••

Grimmjow pulled the car to a rough stop, clutch catching awkwardly as he downshifted and then pulled it out of gear. The finer motor skills of his prosthetic were still less than delicate, but he’d proven he could wield it in a surprisingly fast time frame. If they survived long enough for him to practice with it, Ichigo suspected manipulating it would become second nature to him. The engine cut and the lights of the dashboard shut off and they sat in silence for a few long moments, surveying the looming building with held breaths. 

Not sure what he was expecting to happen, Ichigo glanced over at Grimmjow. The big man studied the front entrance like he thought something might jump out at them; an entire army, maybe. But that wasn’t happening, so Ichigo reached out and unlatched the passenger door. It opened with the creak of old hinges. In the backseat, Shiro followed suit. Grimmjow left the vehicle last, leaving the keys in the ignition. 

They made it four steps before a shadow emerged from the immaculate landscaping lining the lot. Grimmjow’s spine went ramrod straight and he brought his gun into a ready position, but didn’t take aim. “Get out of our way, Harribel.”

A step behind them, Shiro cocked its head and rested a hand against Ichigo’s shoulder, ready to move him bodily out of harm’s way.

The woman, third in Aizen’s roster, walked closer in a measured pace, hands lifted away from her sides and spread to show that she was weaponless. “He killed her, Grimmjow.” Her voice was quiet and husky, but easy to hear despite the distance between them. “He had Nnoitra do it. I never forgave either of them for it, I just never knew how to get out alive.” Her gaze traveled the three of them and she nodded the slightest approval to herself. “I wont get in your way. Even if you don’t kill him, you’ve done enough damage to prove that he’s not invincible. He bleeds. Someone else will try again eventually.”

Somehow, hearing it said aloud that even if they died trying they’d still left enough of a mark made the prospect of walking into what was likely a deathtrap that much easier.

She started to turn, like she’d disappear back into the surroundings never to be seen again. 

“Wait.” Grimmjow stepped forward, watching the set of her shoulders as she paused but didn’t turn back to them. “Where’s Starrk?”

“That lazy bastard hasn’t shown up to work yet. Strange, don’t you think?” She didn’t wait for an answer and Grimmjow didn’t stop her this time.

Aizen’s top men were turning against him. The structure of his operation was crumbling. They turned to the front entrance again. A short step behind them, Shiro shifted. “I’ll go first.” It said in a lilting, mechanical voice that somehow conveyed confident acceptance.

Ichigo shook his head. “They’ll be too prepared for that. We can’t go through the front. Even if they had that woman guarding the front, they’ll have others ready a step behind.”

“We can go through a side entrance.” Grimmjow said, nodding his agreement.

Shiro scoffed a disapproving sound. “Anywhere you can get us in at, they’ll know of and have guarded.” It pivoted, twisting to look behind it, artificial attention taking in the vehicle they’d just parked. Calculations ran through Shiro’s wiring, taking measurements, guessing components. “What side of the building is Aizen’s office?”

Grimmjow frowned, shaking his head, “South facing, but there’s no doors or windows on that side.” None in reach, at any case, and or this very reason. He’d always thought Aizen paranoid for it.

The android nodded, but didn’t seem very concerned, its gold eyes scanning the building now. Shiro motioned over its shoulder with a thumb, still eyeing the building. “Can you show me how to drive that real fast?”

Grimmjow hesitated, following the gesture to take in the car, before what the android was getting at clicked. No doors or windows, just a brick building, an old metal car and an android that didn’t bleed. Slowly, he nodded. 

Given Shiro’s swift AI, it took the android no longer than a few minutes of listening to Grimmjow’s explanations of how to operate the vehicle before it was ready to go. Sitting in the driver’s seat, Shiro rested a hand on the gear shift as Grimmjow reached across to turn the key in the ignition. The engine came to life smoothly. 

At Grimmjow’s side with a hand on the hood of the vehicle to take some of his weight, Ichigo scowled his usual surly expression. The idea didn’t settle well with him, but they were running out of time, energy, and the element of surprise. “Take care to avoid damage.” He told the android. “Your shell wasn’t made for car crashes. The airbags will go off. Follow the car’s momentum, don’t try to fight it.”

“I know what my shell’s capable of.” Shiro said, but recognized the distress its creator was feeling. No doubt physical pain played a part in elevated respiration and heart rate, but the android could do little about that now. Stress, it knew, could explain the rest. “Don’t worry, I wont fail before my mission’s been carried out.”

Ichigo’s brows furrowed, his hands white knuckled against the car’s hood. His teeth clenched and his voice was low. “I’m not worried about that.”

The android frowned, studied his features a moment, but no comprehension was found, and so Shiro turned back to the task at hand. It shifted the car from park and the two humans stepped back.

“We’ll follow close behind.” Grimmjow nodded to the android. “Expect gunfire from the enemy. Aizen wont be alone.” The android nodded, though what Grimmojw said couldn’t possibly have been anything it didn’t already know. Shiro started to take its foot off the break and the car creaked, “Be careful, robot.”

Those yellow eyes cornered. “I wasn’t designed for that. Enough stallin’.” There was no more warning before Shiro pressed the gas pedal. Trying to avoid the chances of hitting a support beam or the brace to an internal wall, Shiro guided the vehicle until the front end pointed toward the outer wall only ten or so feet from the corner of the building. It wasn’t guaranteed to be Aizen’s office, but it would hopefully be a surprise and get them into the building with a little extra time. 

With the car positioned, he stepped on the petal. Mud and clumps of wet sod sprayed out behind the car as the tires spun in wet grass for a moment before catching enough traction to launch the vehicle forward. It fish-tailed slightly, than straightened out, then a moment later at high speeds smashed into the wall of the building. The sound was thunderous. The entire building seemed to sway and the south facing wall sagged around the front end of the vehicle in the short moment before brick was forced passed its limits. The car punched through, brick and pieces of the finished, inner wall beyond flying through the room. The car stalled halfway through, the front end an obliterated mess. Oil leaked in a puddle under it. The airbag deployed and moment after contact with the front end was made. A moment after the car fell still, all was silent, then the vehicle creaked with movement from within. The front windshield, spider-webbed chaotically, exploded outward in shards of thick glass as Shiro forced its way out of the vehicle and into the building.

The two men started, watching the android’s unhesitant crash into the office building, like it had no idea what self-preservation was. A few minutes after the silence took over again, they both headed for the gaping, car shaped hole. 

Approaching, Grimmjow held a hand out behind him to stay the other man. “Stay here.”

The wrist of his outstretched arm was clenched in a tight grip. “No.”

“Ichigo-“

“No!” Ichigo insisted, releasing Grimmjow’s wrist to use the crunched, scraped body of the vehicle for support as he made his way over broken brick and mortar. “That’s my android and this is my revenge. I’m not staying outside.”

Grimmjow frowned, but followed him, sidling sideways along the body of the car to squeeze in around it. He ducked between bent, twisted rebars into the room beyond. Water dripped from damaged pipes somewhere and the fire alarm blared fitfully somewhere out in the hallway. Shiro was nowhere in sight. 

Edging into the doorway, Grimmjow checked down both directions, before leaving the room. “C’mon, this way.” Barely audible over the sound of the blaring fire alarm, someone screamed. A spray of distant gunfire made them both duck, before hurrying on. Halfway down the hallway, a door exploded outward with a crack of creaking, breaking wood. A man fell through it. Two bullets from Grimmjow’s gun ripped through the man’s chest, but a crushed throat and dangling arm proved that he was no threat regardless. Something wooden and heavy scraped across the floor to thud into the wall they were passing, hard and fast enough to make it shudder.

They rounded the doorframe, broken door hanging off one hinge, just in time to watch Shiro dart through an unassuming looking doorway behind where a large desk had sat. It looked like a closet, but an engine roared to life in the shadowed space beyond. There was shouting, then the creak of pulleys and a moment later the space was bathed in fitful, gloomy light as a garage door rolled up. 

More gunfire, forced Ichigo and Grimmjow back, the pair huddled against the wall and out of line of sight. A snarl that could have only come from a metal throat sent a chill through the air.

“Shiro!” Ichigo shouted, hands over his head, over the sound of gunfire, shouting and the screech of tires. The android didn’t respond but something heavy thudded against something even heavier. The screech of metal being scraped against dented metal was a horrid shriek. The sounds of violence followed the vehicle out of the garage as rubber finally caught on damp pavement and the SUV found traction enough to shoot forward.

Ichigo struggled upright from where he and Grimmjow had ducked against the wall. A hand found his arm, helped heave his weight upward, before half guiding, half dragging him through the door and into the hidden garage. It smelled like burning rubber, oil and gun smoke. A couple of bodies lay forgotten on the cold concrete floor. All of this was barely noticed as Ichigo’s attention found the getaway vehicle and the android flattened across the top of it. “No, Shiro!” He yelled again, “Regroup! Get back here-!”

The android clearly heard the commands, for the pale features turned in its creator’s direction, but Shiro overrode the commands on the simple principal that its main goal, the very reason for its creation, was so near to hand. 

Grimmjow and Ichigo watched the SUV skid through wet grass and turn onto the street beyond, fleeing the seemingly unstoppable enemy Aizen had made.

Blue eyes turned to the side, but Ichigo only shook his head, his attention helplessly anchored on the vehicle as it weaved through traffic, speeding away from them. “It’s shell can’t withstand that kind of force.” He whispered. Bullet holes were bad enough. Bullets ripped through wiring and could severely impair the android’s functions. But the weight of a multi-ton vehicle could crush it flat and destroy his android. His friend.

After a wild ride lasting several blocks, Shiro finally secured its purchase on the top of the vehicle. Metal crunched and dented. Artificial fingers punched through the top of the crumpled roof, gripping to wrench back. A horrible, grating screech cut through the air. The vehicle swerved as the driver within panicked, looking from the road, up to where the android was tearing through the top of the SUV, and back. 

In the back seat, the target stared, his expression calm, but his jaw was clenched and his eyes were a little wide. 

“Aizen.” Shiro snarled. Its pale fingers curled around the edges of the hole it had made, every ounce of its artificial strength straining as it widened the opening with the shriek and grate of metal. 

Since the swerving wasn’t working, the driver slammed on the breaks. Crouched and bent against the rooftop, with an arm reached in through the gapping hole, Shiro was caught off guard. The android sneered as its momentum continued when the car stopped, breaks screeching and tires leaving black skid marks. Its arm caught and bent at a terrible angle as it was thrown from the roof, crashing to the ground in front of the vehicle and sliding. Sparks and fine bits of debris sprayed as the android left a scuffed gouge through the blacktop. The air smelled like burning rubber.

The arm that had been wrenched from inside the vehicle when the android was thrown from the roof still worked, but the elbow bent at an awkward angle, twisted incorrectly. The wrongness of it sent sparks along artificial nerves to tell Shiro of the damage. Still, when it came to a stop in the middle of the street, Shiro rolled to right itself and straightened with some difficulty. Black, pitted marks cut through its shell, leaving torn, bloodless scars in the mockery of road rash that would have sent a person to the hospital. The face-plate was cracked and chipped down one side to cut a furrow through its eyebrow and down one pale cheek. The eye on that side was dark and, when blinking failed to fix it, Shiro tapped a finger against its temple a few times. Its vision fuzzed back in like static on a screen as the eye began functioning again.

Just as it got its bearings, tires screeched and the smell of exhaust polluted the air.

Shiro looked up a moment before the front of the vehicle crashed into it. Baring teeth, the android glared murder at the driver even as it slammed into the grill, arms thrown forward and fingers screeching scrapes through the paint as it clung to the car. Damage reports hummed like a quiet, urgent cadence in the back of its head. Shiro hung there for a second, struggling to find a decent grip while it over-rode basic functions it could still continue on without, before rolling up onto the hood and letting its weight crash through the windshield.

Watching from down the road, where the android had left them in order to chase after their target, Ichigo breathed a sharp curse. There was something like grief in his tone. Without his workshop, it would be a long time before he was able to fix Shiro up. Without diagnostics hooked up, without the cradle and his computers, he couldn’t be entirely sure of the extent of damage, but he’d built Shiro, created the android from nothing. He knew what Shiro could handle and what it couldn’t, and he knew those limits were being pushed.

But they were so close to achieving their goal, he couldn’t pull the android back now. Even had he wanted to, even had he tried, he wasn’t sure Shiro would recall. The android had grown passed the mechanical answering of command words. It had flowered into a being of its own, artificial, yes, but intelligent and thinking.

At his side, Grimmjow stood panting, adrenaline giving the big man a jumpy, trembling stance. His good hand was pressed tight against the front of his left shoulder and Ichigo knew the nerves of his arm must have been on fire with how harshly the prosthetic had been used so soon after connection. Blue eyes were trained on the car down the street, sharp and hot for such a cold color.

Gun shots shattered the air, making both men flinch down. A moment later, the back windshield of the SUV shattered outward as the body of the driver was thrown through it. The vehicle, no longer being steered, drifted across into the oncoming lane, before speeding over the curb and slamming into a nearby building with a deafening crash that collapsed the wall and rained brick across the car.

“Oh…Shiro…” The words tumbled from Ichigo’s mouth in a shocked whisper as the man lurched an unsteady, exhausted step forward. A metal hand wrapped around his upper arm to steady him, before Grimmjow pulled him close. 

The big man shook his head, “Not yet.” 

All was still for a long moment, debris pattering across the torn roof of the SUV and the sidewalk. Ichigo tugged Grimmjow a step forward. As he did, the back door of the vehicle slammed open with a harsh creak so hard it hit the jamb and nearly swung closed again. Aizen stumbled free, clearly disoriented. He sank to his knees for a moment, blood darkening the side of his features and staining his shirt collar. Then his head snapped up and whipped around and the politician visibly recoiled.

A moment later, the car shifted as something within moved, and Shiro half pushed, half crawled its way through the vehicle’s crumpled interior. Failing, the android dropped more than stepped out. 

Aizen shot to his feet and bolted as fast as shock and whatever injuries he had sustained in the crash would allow for. 

One arm dangling limp, Shiro reached across itself and used the open door to steady itself as it watched, in no shape to chase. A hinge on the door creaked and broke, jolting the android before it re-righted itself. With a twisting of its cracked features, Shiro wrenched the door the rest of the way free and flung it like a frisbee. It slammed into Aizen’s back, flattening the man. After Aizen hit the ground, Shiro lurched a few steps towards the man, before something internal cracked and the android crumpled with a frustrated snarl. The sound came out distorted. 

Grimmjow finally let go of Ichigo and together the two made their way the few blocks down the street, hobbling and in pain. The android looked up and over as they approached, meeting its creator’s eyes. “Mission status; nearing completion.” It announced, attention swinging back to where Aizen lay motionless. Gold eyes scanned the figure and Shiro reached up to knock on the side of its head again. “Vitals weak.”

“Yours or his?” Ichigo asked, dropping on numb legs to kneel at the android’s side. Sharp pain shot lightening through his spine and pelvis, but it was a distant problem to be worried about later. In his head, Ichigo was already assessing what he could of the damage Shiro had sustained. There was too much for him to fix in the field, without his workshop.

A snarky smirk spread across Shiro’s face, further cracking its faceplate. “Both.”

Ichigo nodded, voice catching. “You did well. I can take over from here.” The android’s gaze shifted up to him and he noticed how the pupil of one eye didn’t respond to the change of light nor did it respond to the autofocus when Shiro went from looking long distance to Ichigo where he knelt much closer.

Pale, artificial features pulled into a frown, “You’re in pain.” Shiro announced, trying to push itself more upright with its one working arm. Damaged, bent internals ground together harshly. The reports the attempted movement flashed across Shiro’s vision were numerous enough to make the android pause, before its attempts recalibrated and Shiro settled back again. 

Shaking his head slightly, Ichigo swallowed and helped roll the android over to make this short conversation more comfortable on them both. “I’ll be fine.” His voice came out a whisper. “I’ll fix you.” He promised, nodding. “It’s ok for you to shut down now. When I reboot you, you’ll be better than before.”

“Yyy-“ The distorted voice caught on the sound like a broken record skipping and Shiro paused again before starting over. “You wont scrap me to start over, like with the others?”

“No. You aren’t like the others. But it’s going to take me some time. You’ll be decommissioned for a while, I think.”

“Understood.” Shiro’s gaze sought out Grimmjow and the android called out, “Witness?” In a firm voice.

Grimmjow pulled his attention off Aizen, where the man still lay motionless on the sidewalk. Blue eyes focused on the android, brows furrowing. He nodded a single motion.

The android matched it, then returned its attention to its creator. “Good night.”

“Good night, Shiro.” Ichigo watched as the life left strange, artificial gold eyes. The tenseness of Shiro’s body drained, letting heavy metal settle with quiet squeals of friction from bent, damaged plating and gears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really liked the premise of this story, but it didn't seem well received compared to my other works. I know not everyone likes open endings, but I hope there was some satisfaction to be found for everyone nonetheless.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts and comments welcome! Hope you enjoyed :)


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